


Struck

by I_K_Ros



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angels, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 143,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_K_Ros/pseuds/I_K_Ros
Summary: As a Guardian Angel, it's Arthur's job to protect humans from harm. But when he's struck by lightning and crashes in an alleyway in NYC, it takes has-been hero Alfred Jones to get him back on his wings. While Arthur heals from his injuries, he discovers that his hero perhaps means more to him than other humans, and learns that Alfred has his own wounds to overcome.





	1. Chapter 1

Dark, stormy clouds filled the sky and dropped countless gallons of rainwater on the city below. Here and there, a bolt of lightning flashed, quickly followed by a boom of thunder so loud it shook the air. In spite of the storm, humans scurried along the sidewalks with umbrellas over their heads, hoods and collars pulled up to protect against the cold. The streets were jammed with vehicles, honking at each other while their engines revved impatiently, and lights glowed from nearly every surface, only magnified by the glistening rain. The humans were unaware of the beings above who used the weather to shield their presence.

Wings fluttering and wands firmly in hand, dozens of Angels flew through the clouds in search of the humans they’d been assigned. One Angel, a male with blond hair and striking green eyes, paused in mid-air, aimed his body straight down, and closed his wings. He dropped like a stone, shooting towards the earth faster than a lightning bolt—any humans that happened to glance up would barely be able to register a blur of light.

Just before the Angel crashed into the roof of a tall apartment building, his wings sprang open and the wind caught him, slowing his descent drastically. He flapped his wings a few times and gently touched down on the roof, sandaled feet splashing in the puddles.

Ugh, if he hadn’t already been soaked from the bloody storm, his wet feet would have bothered him a great deal. He hated being wet, but for now he was just going to have to deal with it. This was his last run for the night, and soon he would be able to return home, dry off, and enjoy a nice cup of tea. Maybe he’d curl up by the fire with a book to let the warmth seep back into his bones with a blanket over his legs, like he’d done before he got his wings.

With that pleasant image in mind, the Angel half walked, half flew across the roof and over the side of the building. This was when he was most vulnerable, as he slowly drifted down towards the street below, wings flapping slowly but powerfully to control the speed of his descent. His gaze was intent on the building’s windows, searching for the tell-tale glow of his mark.

_Ah! There it is!_

Eager to finish, he flew to the window and touched the glowing symbol on the glass. It was invisible to humans, and was how each Angel found his or her assigned human. This particular Angel’s mark was a Tudor Rose, his favorite flower, and vanished the moment he touched it. Silently but swiftly, he opened the window and entered the room beyond; a quick glance told him it was a little girl’s room.

_Piece of cake._

A wave of his wand later, the Angel stood perfectly dry in his pristine white toga and leather sandals, his blond hair moving slightly as if there was a breeze. It was more than slightly annoying that in only a few minutes he was going to have to return to the storm outside, but he was glad to be dry for now. Besides, a soaked Angel wasn’t nearly as impressive as a dry one, and he needed to make the best impression he could if he wanted to accomplish his assigned task.

Refocusing his thoughts, the Angel turned and examined the girl in question. She was asleep in bed, surrounded by various stuffed animals; the walls were covered by posters and drawings of flowers, fairies, angels, unicorns and other such magical beings, and an overall color scheme of pinks and white. The Angel quickly decided that he liked this kid. Anyone who loved his friends this much was definitely on his good list.

With a quiet _swish_ of his wings, he was across the room and kneeling by the girl’s bed. As gently as he could, the Angel placed two fingers on the girl’s temple and slipped himself into her dreams.

_Large brown eyes widened as the dream-girl looked upon the dream-Angel. They were standing in an odd-looking, empty playground, with warped equipment and strange plants. The dream-girl was obviously frightened and held a stuffed unicorn to her chest. Smiling, the dream-Angel held his hand out to her in a friendly manner._

_“Hello, Mei.”_

_The dream-girl blinked. “How do you know my name?”_

_“I’m your Guardian Angel, Mei. Of course I know your name. Would you like to come play with my friends?”_

_She hesitated, glancing around the playground to see what friends he was talking about. “Who are your friends?”_

_“Come see.” His hand was still extended, and Mei shyly took it. “Close your eyes,” the dream-Angel whispered, and the dream-girl obediently did so. “Now open them.”_

_Mei opened her eyes and gasped, amazed and awed. The warped playground had been replaced by a lush green meadow. The grass swayed in the breeze, there were trees to climb and flowers to smell, and even a pond with a small beach._

_“Where are we?” she asked, staring around as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes._

_“This is my dream-meadow. You can visit any time you want, as long as you’re asleep.”_

_Disappointment darkened Mei’s expression. “This is only a dream?”_

_The dream-Angel chuckled. “Yes, and no. This meadow is very real, but the only way for humans like you to get here is by dreaming.”_

_“Oh. Okay.” She was still trying to take everything in when a soft bell-like sound came from behind them._

_“Mei, I’d like you to meet my friends.”_

_They turned at the same time, and Mei covered her mouth with her hands as her eyes widened to the figurative size of dinner plates. The dream-Angel smiled, pleased by her reaction._

_“A unicorn! And fairies! I knew you were real!” Mei squeaked, too overwhelmed to move as her toy unicorn dangled from her grasp._

_“Go play with them,” the dream-Angel urged gently. “That’s why they’re here.”_

_Mei didn’t need to be told twice. Only seconds later, she and her newfound friends were off, racing across the meadow. Their laughter—the dream-girl’s giggle, the fairies’ twinkling laughs and the unicorn’s whinnies—made getting wet in the storm seem like a very small price to pay to help someone like that child._

_This was why the Angel loved his job._

_“Are you finished?” a quiet voice asked from near the dream-Angel’s left shoulder._

_“Yes. She was my last stop. I’ll be home soon.” He turned and offered a smile to the flying, mint-colored bunny that had spoken, then vanished._

Opening his eyes, the Angel took his hand away from the still-sleeping girl’s temple and smiled to himself. She was absolutely precious, and hopefully his intervention would be enough. But there wasn’t time to speculate—his bed and a cup of tea were calling his name, so the Angel left through the window, shut it carefully, and, with a powerful stroke of his wings, shot himself up towards the angry-looking storm clouds.

Rain pelted his face and he was drenched in moments, much to his irritation. At last he was going to get to relax and—

A sudden, searing, unbearable pain struck his back and the Angel screamed; his voice was lost in a boom of thunder. Weak and disoriented, he flapped his wings hard in an effort to remain airborne, but it was no use. The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was excruciating, and every movement made it worse, until he couldn’t fight it anymore and fainted, falling back towards the earth.

X

Hands shoved deep into his pockets and a hood pulled over his sandy blond hair, a man trudged along an empty sidewalk littered with trash and half-drowned in dirty puddles. He wore black slacks, black boots and a black jacket with a name tag that read “A. F. Jones.” The word “SECURITY” was emblazoned on the back of his uniform jacket in white, alerting anyone who saw him to the fact that he was a security guard and therefore declared that Alfred Jones was not someone to mess with.

It was 5:30am and he was exhausted, but at least the rain was letting up; it was only drizzling now. Still, the gloomy weather made this part of the city even more depressing than usual, which was really saying something. Most people only thought about the bright, flashy side of New York City, but it had its low-income neighborhoods. It was in one of these poorer areas that Alfred walked. There were no other people out at this time, though he could hear a dog barking somewhere. The only reason he was up was because he’d just gotten off of work and was on his way home to sleep.

Even though he was drop-dead tired, he enjoyed these early morning walks. It was peaceful and if he timed it right he could watch the sunrise. Unfortunately, it was late October, so it was still dark out and the only light came from dim street lamps, many of which needed new bulbs. This meant that the sidewalk was shadowy, and the many narrow alleyways were perfect places for a thief to hide. But Alfred wasn’t worried about getting mugged—the very visible glock on his hip would deter any potential attackers, and he could fight better than most. Besides, he wasn’t carrying anything worth stealing.

He was still another ten minutes from his apartment when something odd caught his eye. There was a light in the ally ahead, sort of a soft glow that the man found very interesting. He’d never seen anything like it before.

Cautious but curious, he continued towards the alleyway and peered into what would usually be a dark, smelly space. He stared, surprised.

“What the hell?” the blond muttered, picking his way through the piles of trash. This was not happening. Right? But as he stood in the alley, staring at the source of the glow, he couldn’t deny what was right in front of him. He couldn’t quite believe it, either.

What on earth was a guy dressed in a toga and sandals doing lying in an alley at 5:30 in the morning? Perhaps he’d been at an early Halloween party and had too much to drink. That didn’t seem very likely—there’d been no parties in the area that night, otherwise there would have been a lot more evidence of it than one passed out dude. Why else would he be there, though? He was too old for a college toga party, probably in his mid-to-late twenties.

Actually, he was kind of cute.

_Dude. Not the time for that._

“Hey, dude, wake up.” Alfred nudged the unconscious guy with his shoe. The man groaned and rolled from his side onto his stomach but didn’t wake.

“Holy shit!” Blue eyes widening behind glasses, he stared in shock and horror at the massive wound on the strange man’s back. It looked like someone had lit his toga on fire then let it burn through and melt the guy’s skin, and it looked fresh. No wonder he was unconscious—no one would want to be awake with an injury like that.

Once he got over the initial panic of seeing the burn, something else caught the bespectacled man’s attention. Amazed, he reached out and touched the dirty white feathers of what could only be a wing.

_Whoa, it feels so real!_

The wing was warm and the feathers were softer than he’d have thought was possible, especially considering the fact that they were wet and covered in blood and grime. Fascinated, he ran his fingers over the feathers, and the injured man shuddered as if he could feel it, which was impossible.

“Well, I can’t just leave him here, I guess.”

Careful of the burn and wings, he lifted the unconscious stranger and carried him out of the alley. He was surprisingly light, and Alfred had no trouble carrying him back to his apartment. Opening the door proved to be a little more difficult, but the smaller man was light enough for him to shuffle him in his arms, pull his key ring from his belt loop and open the front door. The room beyond was, for lack of a better word, plain. Off-white walls, worn gray carpet, a second-hand sofa, an old floor shelf and a desk lamp on a battered old coffee table were the only furniture in the living room. A door in the wall to the right led to the small bedroom and a half wall across from the couch partially separated the kitchen from the living room. Another door hid the apartment’s only bathroom.

It wasn’t much of a home, but it was enough.

Kicking the door shut behind him, the tall blond carried his rescue into the kitchen and gently laid him on the table. The wound looked even worse when he flicked on the light. It was red and angry and painful-looking—he hadn’t seen anything like it since—no. He wasn’t going to think about it. Not now. He had a job to do and it needed to be done quickly.

Alfred washed his hands in the kitchen sink then dried them on a paper towel before he looked at the unconscious man again. As gently as he was able, he removed the ruined toga and blushed darkly to see that the man wore nothing underneath. Other than the burn and NYC alley way filth, the pale body was flawless, and still that soft glow emanated from him. There were no straps on the wings to hold them in place, and he wondered how they were attached, but quickly forced himself to focus.

The First Aid kit he kept on top of the fridge was emptied onto the counter and he selected a bottle of burn gel, then disinfectant and gauze. The disinfectant was first, bubbling and hissing as it encountered the filth from the alleyway. It would have stung like hell if the guy had been awake, especially since Alfred was using a damp paper towel to wipe away the larger pieces of dirt. Next, he took a clean rag from a drawer, rinsed it in warm water and washed the grime from the fragile-looking body. He then carefully applied the burn gel, layering a generous amount of the green goop on the wound, and, lastly, taped a large pad of gauze over the majority of the man’s back.

Satisfied with his work, Alfred washed his hands again then picked the man up once more, cradling the petite frame against his chest protectively, and took him into the bedroom. It was as plain and as sparsely furnished as the rest of the apartment, but it was clean and there was nowhere else for the man to rest until he woke. This being the case, Alfred—awkward and blushing—dressed his rescue in a pair of his own pajama pants and a soft T-shirt, both of which were much too large for the still-unconscious male. It was the best he could do for now, so he laid the man on the bed and tucked him in, then found himself brushing the golden blond hair back from the pale face.

_He looks so peaceful, like he’s never seen anything bad in his life._

Alfred was a little jealous of the innocence this man seemed to possess. After the things he’d seen and done, he envied anyone who could still claim some amount of innocence. But he didn’t regret anything, not really, so the jealousy faded after a few minutes and he changed out of his uniform into a pair of sweatpants and left the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. Exhaustion was creeping up on him and he collapsed onto the couch, fully content to sleep there until his mysterious guest returned to the conscious world.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything hurt, especially his back. His whole body ached, and the pain grew stronger the closer he got to full consciousness. He felt like hell. No, he felt _human,_ like before he’d been an Angel. But that couldn’t be right, and Arthur sleepily dismissed the notion that somehow he’d become human again. That was impossible. So why did he feel like he’d just wrestled with death and barely managed to escape?

Wincing, he shifted in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. It occurred to him that the mattress was too hard, and the blankets were thinner than they should have been. This wasn’t his bed.

Arthur bolted upright and pain lanced down his spine, making him flinch and bite his lip. Through the tears that had formed, his green eyes examined the strange room. It was small, with plain off-white walls, sliding wooden doors leading to what was most likely the closet, a small nightstand, one bare light bulb in the ceiling, white blinds covering the only window, and the queen-sized bed he currently sat in. That was it, and everything was wrong. Where was his wardrobe, the wooden floor and rug? His books? This wasn’t his room, and the Angel was beginning to feel afraid.

“Bloody hell, what happened?”

He plucked at the fabric of the shirt he wore and discovered it to be a large man’s T-shirt with a comic-style illustration of Superman on it. The pants were navy with thin gray striping and were surprisingly comfortable despite also being much too big for him. A quick glance beneath the shirt told him that his toga was missing, which meant someone had undressed him. Someone had seen and touched his naked body and he had no memory of it happening.

Brilliant. As if he hadn’t been uncomfortable enough without knowing that.

Feeling rather violated, Arthur pushed the blankets down and stood. He had to move slowly, but at least most of the pain had faded, except for his back. It felt like his skin had been ripped off, and he could feel something stuck between his wings. As quietly as he could, the Angel crept to the door and peeked into the room beyond.

 _An apartment? How’d I get here?_ At least he wasn’t being held hostage.

His gaze swept over the meager furnishings and landed on a figure sprawled on the only couch. He could hear the person breathing slowly and deduced that he or she was sleeping. That must have been whoever had brought him here and put him in the pajamas that were so unlike his own.

Curious, Arthur moved closer to the couch and looked down at the stranger. Tan skin, tousled, dusty blond hair with one little bit that stuck up funny in the front, and a strong bone structure. It was a man, probably in his late twenties and easily six feet tall. He had broad shoulders and looked fairly muscular even while dressed and partially hidden by a blanket.

_Hm. He’s actually rather good-looking, for a human._

The man didn’t look dangerous, so Arthur continued with his investigation of the apartment. He found nothing of interest in the kitchen, though he filched an apple from the fridge. It wasn’t enough to sate his hunger, but he could wait until he knew what was going on before locating more food. The only other place to look was the bathroom.

It was small but clean, thankfully, and Arthur wasted no time in locking the door and relieving himself. He may not have been human, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to put up with bodily functions. As he washed his hands, he examined his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

_I look bloody awful._

At the very least, he needed to bathe. His hair was dirty and there were traces of some unidentifiable filth on his arms and neck. That, however, would have to wait. First, he needed to find out what was wrong with his back.

It hurt, but after a few minutes he managed to get the Superman shirt off and turned so he could see his back in the mirror. A huge white bandage covered nearly his entire back, but his wings appeared to be undamaged. Gingerly, he lifted the feathery appendages and spread them, testing for bruises or broken bones. Whatever was under the bandage twinged at the movement, but his wings themselves felt fine.

Well, that was something, at least.

Reaching back, Arthur began to loosen the tape that held the bandage in place. It pulled at his skin and stung a bit, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. He had to know what was under there. Once the tape and gauze were completely removed, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This was probably going to be on the unpleasant side of things, but he had to know.

He turned and opened his eyes.

X

A bloodcurdling scream interrupted Alfred’s sleep and he shot to his feet, ready to fight for his life. His eyes searched every shadow for a hidden opponent and his ears strained for the tiniest sound. Slowly, the dim apartment came into focus, and he forced himself to relax. It was okay. There was no war, no enemies to defend against. He was safe in his apartment. There was no reason to be so on edge.

Still, he knew he hadn’t imagined the scream, and it had been too loud to have come from outside. He could hear what sounded like crying coming from the bathroom, and slowly approached the closed door. His rescue, it appeared, had woken up.

“Hey, you okay in there?” he called, knocking on the bathroom door. The crying grew louder, and Al tried the handle; it was locked. “Dude, you okay? Open the door.”

Quiet shuffling reached his ears and the lock clicked. The door opened to reveal a pale face with tear-filled green eyes staring up at him from beneath abnormally thick eyebrows.

“What did you do to me?” Arthur croaked, his throat tight as he struggled to hold back tears; he turned and pointed over his shoulder at the wound. “What the hell is this?”

Alfred frowned, though he couldn’t help but notice the other man’s accent—it was actually kind of cute even though he was angry. “I didn’t do anything to you. You already had that burn when I found you in the alley. All I did was bring you here and patch you up.”

The short man glared up at him, sniffling quietly. Clearly, he didn’t believe that Alfred hadn’t been the one to hurt him, and his hunched shoulders said that he expected to be attacked or yelled at. 

Alfred sighed.

“Look, I found you in an alleyway while walking home from work. You were unconscious and you had that huge burn on your back, so I carried you here, cleaned you up as best as I could and bandaged the wound. That was a couple hours ago. I swear to God, that’s what happened.”

They stared at each other until Arthur sighed and looked away. He could tell when a person was lying, and this man was telling the truth.

“Thank you for helping me.” His tone was grudging and he looked down at his still-sandaled feet, pale cheeks flushing. It wasn’t like him to let his emotions get the better of him, and he’d come dangerously close to crying when he’d seen the wound in the mirror. At least his wings were fine. If he stayed focused on that, then he should be able to stay relatively calm.

The taller man smiled, revealing straight, dazzling white teeth that matched his clear blue eyes perfectly. “You’re welcome. I’m Alfred, by the way.” He offered one large hand, and Arthur hesitantly accepted; they shook.

“My name is Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you. You’re British, right? I mean, you sound like it.”

“Oh, well, yes. I was British.”

Past tense? What was that supposed to mean?

“So are you hungry? I can make you something to eat or I can order out or whatever.”

Arthur wanted to say yes. In all honesty he was starving, but he didn’t have time for that. If he’d been unconscious for the last few hours, then his friends and family must be panicking. Actually, he was a little surprised that no one had shown up to find him yet.

“Thank you for the offer, but I can’t stay.”

“Oh.” Disappointment clouded the blue eyes. “Well, do you want to borrow some clothes? Your toga thing is in the hamper, but I don’t know if you’ll want it anymore. I didn’t want to throw it away without asking you, but it’s got a big hole in the back and it was really dirty.”

Damn. Well, that wasn’t too much of a disaster. If he had his wand, he could easily repair and clean the toga then heal his back and be off in no time. The only problem was that he seemed to be missing his wand, and he didn’t know if Alfred had put it somewhere. Asking for it would certainly make the human curious and then he’d ask questions, and Arthur knew the tall man would feel like he deserved answers in return for saving his life. But he couldn’t tell Alfred about being an Angel—humans weren’t supposed to see them except for in dreams, and Arthur could get in serious trouble if he revealed too much.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much a choice.

“Alfred, did I have anything else with me when you found me?”

The taller man thought for a moment. “Not that I saw. The alley was full of trash, so I guess if you’d dropped something I could’ve missed it. Why, did you lose something?”

“Yes, and I need it before I can leave.” Arthur moved past the man, ignoring the pain in his back, and headed for the door. He’d just turned the knob when he felt a hand on his arm, and he looked back to see Alfred’s concerned expression.

“Dude, it’s, like, eight in the morning, and you’re shirtless. If you go out there by yourself, you’ll get mugged or something. Besides, it’s freezing, and you’re hurt.”

“I don’t care. I have to find it.”

Alfred let go of the shorter man and went into the bedroom, and for a moment Arthur thought that was the end of it. But then the dusty blond returned wearing glasses, shoes and a coat, and he had a second coat in his hands.

He smiled at Arthur’s surprised expression. “You didn’t think I was going to let you go by yourself, did you?” Careful of the wound and wings, he helped the injured man put the coat on, grabbed his keys from the coffee table, and opened the door. He was still curious about the wings, since they were still firmly in place on Arthur’s back, but he didn’t ask.

Grateful, Arthur nodded and followed his rescuer down the sidewalk. It was strange to see New York City from the ground level—he was much more used to the bird’s eye view, and nothing looked at all familiar. How on earth did these humans find their way around? It was a good thing Alfred had decided to help him, because he would definitely have gotten lost and wouldn’t even have been able to find the right alleyway, much less his wand. Everything looked so different that he had to admit the taller man was right—he’d have gotten mugged, whatever that meant.

“No, no, no, no! It has to be here!” Frantic, Arthur dug through the piles of trash in desperate search of his wand. It had to be there. It _had_ to. If he didn’t have his wand, he couldn’t fix his toga or heal his back, and with that wound he knew he wouldn’t be able to fly. Hell, just lifting his wings made him want to cry.

If he couldn’t find his wand, he’d be stuck on earth until his back healed on its own, and anyone who was looking for him wouldn’t be able to find him.

“Arthur, what are you looking for, anyway?” Alfred asked as he watched the other man with a worried expression. They’d both searched the alleyway from end to end and had found nothing but garbage. Whatever the injured man had lost, it wasn’t in that alley.

“My wand! The source of my power!” He was on the verge of crying again and he could feel his wings trembling beneath the coat. “Without my wand, I’m nothing, I’m a grounded Angel!”

Alfred blinked owlishly, the words sounding strange and out of place in that dirty New York alley. “You’re a…what?”

Spinning around, Arthur looked up at the dusty blond with tears in his eyes. “An Angel, okay? What, you didn’t see the great bloody wings on my back? I’m an Angel, and I lost my wand.”

The alley was quiet as the two men stared at each other, hurt and furious green eyes drilling into surprised blue ones.

Finally, Alfred broke the silence. “Okay.”

Surprise flashed across Arthur’s face, followed by suspicion. “Okay? That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? I just told you I’m an Angel, and your only response is ‘okay’?”

A tired grin spread across the tall man’s face. “Well, yeah. What else would I say? You’ve got wings, and you’re obviously not from around here. Hell, no sane man would run around in a toga and sandals at this time of year, especially without any boxers or anything. Either you’re really an angel, in which case I’m obligated to help you, or you’re nuts, and to be honest, I’m so tired that I don’t actually give a shit which is the truth.”

Arthur felt ashamed for not realizing how exhausted the blue-eyed man was. He was practically asleep on his feet and had in fact been woken by the Angel’s scream, yet he’d voluntarily walked all the way back to the alley and then searched through piles of trash, all for a complete stranger.

It was people like Alfred, Arthur decided, that made humanity worth fighting for.

Sighing, the golden blond admitted defeat and straightened. “I’m sorry, Alfred. This was a waste of time—my wand isn’t here, and you look exhausted. I’m very grateful for your help, but there’s nothing more to do at this point. I’ll have to wait for it to heal on its own. In the meantime, let’s go back to your apartment so you can get some rest.”

Alfred yawned widely then smiled. “Yeah, good idea.”

Picking their way around the garbage, the two men left the alley and walked back to Alfred’s apartment in silence. The sun was up by now and the neighborhood was starting to come to life; those people who noticed them gave Arthur’s sandals strange looks but no one spoke to them. It was still early and therefore fairly quiet, but neither Alfred nor Arthur noticed. They were both ready to sleep, and by the time they reached the apartment, they were both about to collapse.

Even though he would never admit it, Arthur’s wound was taking a toll on him, and he could tell that Alfred was barely managing to keep his eyes open even as he unlocked the front door. When they got inside, he shrugged out of the borrowed coat and headed for the couch, determined to sleep for the next few days, at least.

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Alfred asked, kicking his shoes off and dropping his own coat on the floor to be picked up later; he set his glasses on the coffee table.

“Going to sleep, why?”

Shaking his head, the dusty blond smiled weakly. “Don’t be silly. You’re not sleeping on the couch, not with that burn. Besides, what kind of man would I be if I made an angel sleep on my couch? No way. You get the bedroom. The couch is mine.”

Arthur hesitated, unsure, but eventually nodded and went into the bedroom. He left the door open so that he could see Alfred lying on the couch after he’d gotten in bed, and nuzzled into the pillow. The fabric of the pillow case smelled pleasant, a scent somewhere between campfire smoke and coffee filling his nose, and he realized that it must be Alfred’s own personal scent. It helped to calm him, surprisingly enough, and as he relaxed his body settled against the mattress until he was more comfortable than he would have thought possible. His back hardly hurt at all while he lay on his stomach, and he felt safe with the man who had rescued him just in the other room.

Mere minutes had passed before he heard Alfred’s breathing slow significantly as the tall man fell into a deep sleep. Arthur himself was exhausted, but he did his best to stay awake a little while longer. He needed to figure out what he was going to do. Injured and without his wand he was all but helpless, yet he had Alfred, and he knew the kind-hearted human would do everything he could to help him. Still, there was no knowing how long it would take his back to heal, and he couldn’t risk being seen, so he was going to have to remain inside the apartment until he was well enough to go home.

That was a depressing thought, and he disliked the idea of being so cooped up, but there were no other options. He could always contact one of his friends through his dreams and have them organize a search and rescue mission, but he didn’t know where he was, so there was little point in asking them to send help. Besides, having teams of Angels scouring the city for him would be foolish and it would put countless of his fellows at risk of being discovered. No, it would be better to simply let his body heal and return home as soon as he was able. The most he could realistically accomplish through dreams was to let them know that he was safe and would be back soon.

His mind made up, Arthur let his eyes close and took a deep breath, enjoying Alfred’s scent once again. It had been many, many years since he’d last spent the night on earth, and a lot had changed since then. Alfred’s bed wasn’t as soft as the one he had at home, but it seemed like heaven compared to the alleyway he’d apparently crashed in, and in almost no time at all he was fast asleep. More exhausted than he could ever remember being during his time as an Angel, he slept without dreaming for the first time in over one hundred years.


	3. Chapter 3

The sounds of eggs and bacon on the stove filled the small kitchen as Alfred made a mid-afternoon “breakfast” for himself and the man who was still asleep in the other room. It was strange to him, now that he was rested and fully awake, that there was an angel sleeping in his bed. A real angel. A very attractive angel. In his bed. And wearing his pajamas.

_Nope. Not thinking that. You just got out of a bad relationship, Alfred. Focus on your job so you can make enough money to get out of this shithole apartment. He’s an angel—get a grip._

Behind him, the toaster dinged to signal that the bread was done, and he quickly removed it so that it wouldn’t burn. Cooking was helping him keep his thoughts where they belonged, and it was nice to cook for more than just himself again. Besides, he knew Arthur was probably going to be starving when he woke, so he was making plenty of food for the both of them. Eggs, bacon, toast and orange juice, he even had toaster waffles and syrup if the injured angel was still hungry.

_He’ll probably want to take a bath, too, and he’ll need help because of his back._

Unbidden, an image of Arthur, naked and dripping wet as he knelt in the bathtub with his wings spread, rose in Alfred’s mind, making him nearly drop the spatula he held.

“Jesus Christ!”

Immediately after the words burst out of him, he slapped a hand over his mouth and stared at the partially open door to the bedroom, worried that he might have woken his guest. He didn’t hear any movement, and slowly let himself relax. Apparently, Arthur was a heavy sleeper, or he would definitely have been woken by Al’s shouts, and then he’d want to know what was wrong. Somehow, he didn’t think the angel would appreciate knowing that Alfred was having a really hard time thinking about him in a non-sexual way.

Alfred knew that it didn’t make sense for him to think about Arthur the way he was. He’d known the man for less than a day and here he was having shower fantasies about an injured angel he barely knew. It had taken him months to view his last partner in a sexual context, though given the circumstances under which they’d met, that wasn’t surprising. But the way he’d met Arthur should have made it impossible for him to be attracted to the man—what was less appealing than an unconscious, injured man lying in a dirty alleyway at 5:30 in the morning?

Still stuck on this train of thought, the sandy blond finished the eggs and bacon and set the table, making sure everything was perfect. It occurred to him that since Arthur was British he might want tea, but he didn’t have any in his apartment so there was little he could do about that until the next time he went grocery shopping. He figured Arthur would appreciate the meal even though it lacked tea, and surveyed the small table with satisfaction.

_Perfect._

Sock-covered feet quiet on the carpeted floor, he approached the bedroom door and peeked in to see Arthur fast asleep, the blankets covering him up to his waist as he snuggled into Alfred’s pillows. His wings were tucked neatly over his shoulder blades and his back rose and fell slowly as he breathed. The burn looked less angry than before, and Al wondered if it would heal at a faster rate than normal because Arthur wasn’t human. Part of him hoped not, even though it was selfish of him. He wanted Arthur to stay—he liked the smaller man, and not just because it was easy to picture him naked. There was something about the angel’s presence that made him feel at ease, though that was probably to be expected. He was an angel, after all, and angels were supposed to be symbols of peace and hope and all that. In fact, he looked like the absolute epitome of peace as he lay sleeping, and Alfred found himself not wanting to wake him and disturb that peace. However, he couldn’t help but think that the food wouldn’t be as good if he let it cool and reheated it later, and he knew Arthur needed to eat if he was going to heal quickly. The angel could always go back to sleep after eating, anyway, and he’d be able to sleep through the night while Alfred was at work.

His mind made up, the tall blond knocked on the doorframe quietly. “Arthur?”

The sleeping angel stirred, lifting his head slightly and looking at Alfred with bleary green eyes, his hair mussed from the pillows. “Hm?”

For a moment, Al discovered that he’d suddenly lost his voice. Arthur looked absolutely precious like that, and Alfred had to work hard to keep his mind from wandering to areas it had no business wandering to. It was impossible, however, to deny that he wouldn’t mind waking up to that face every day.

“I…” He cleared his throat, embarrassed, and glanced away from the angel. “I made some breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

A smile graced Arthur’s lips, making Al’s heart flutter in a completely irrational way. “God, yes. I’m bloody starving.”

Alfred smiled in return as the angel got out of bed and stretched carefully. He noticed, not for the first time, that while Arthur wasn’t muscular by any means, he was nowhere near what could be called fat. His pale body was slim, almost unhealthily skinny, but in a way that made him look delicate, like a flower. Al wanted to memorize every bit of that body and forced himself to turn away and go back to the kitchen. If he didn’t get a grip, things were going to go downhill extraordinarily quickly.

A few moments passed before Arthur appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, now wearing an over-sized long-sleeve shirt in addition to the baggy pajama pants, making him look even more petite than he really was. 

_Damn. I didn’t know grown men could be that adorable._

In an attempt to hide his thoughts, Al looked down at his plate of food. “I hope you like eggs.”

“I like anything when I’m this hungry, but yes, I like eggs.” There was a slightly joking tone as Arthur spoke, and Alfred chuckled.

The legs of the chair scraped quietly as the angel pulled it back from the table then sat. It was mostly quiet as the two men ate, both too focused on their food to speak. As he’d suspected, Arthur was ravenous and ate everything that was put in front of him with little discretion, though his table manners were exquisite the entire time. It made Alfred feel unrefined, since he’d never had any training in proper etiquette and Arthur seemed like he’d have been comfortable dining with the Queen of England even while wearing the American’s too-big pajamas.

When at last there was no more food to eat, Alfred stood and began to gather the dirty dishes, piling them into the sink and running hot water over them.

“Do you need help cleaning up? It’s the least I can do after you’ve been so kind to me,” Arthur offered, standing by the table as if unsure of what to do next.

“I got it, thanks.” The American flashed a grin as he added dish soap to the sink of water. “Besides, you’re hurt, so you should rest. You can watch TV or go back to sleep or whatever.”

The word “TV” made the angel perk up slightly, and Alfred chuckled.

“Have you ever watched TV?”

“No. We don’t have electricity in—well, I suppose you’d call it heaven—so we don’t have TV or computers or anything like that.”

Alfred’s jaw dropped. “No electricity? Then what do you _do?_ ”

Narrow shoulders rising in a shrug, Arthur wandered over to the couch and slowly lowered himself down on it. “Read. Work. Spend time with friends and family. Watch the earth. There’s plenty to do—it’s just not the same as what you have here.”

“Oh.” The warm water felt nice on his hands and helped to calm Alfred as he washed the dishes. “You said ‘work.’ Do you have a job?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

Arthur hesitated, chewing his lip as he thought. “I’m sorry, Alfred. I’m grateful for your help, really I am, but I can’t tell you very much about myself or where I’m from or what I do. We have to have permission to reveal ourselves to humans, and that only happens when it’s part of our job. This is a special occasion, but I still can’t reveal much.”

“Oh.” He did his best to keep from sounding disappointed, since he’d been bursting with curiosity about angels since he’d woken up. “That’s cool. I get it.”

The only sound was that of swishing water as Alfred continued with the dishes. Arthur surveyed the apartment once more, taking in more detail than he had the first time. If this was to be his home until his back healed, then he wanted to get used to it as quickly as possible so that he could make the most out of his time on earth. There was no point in letting himself feel homesick, and the apartment, though clearly not the best, was well-kept and Arthur found that he could be quite comfortable there after a day or two.

“Alfred, what do you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your job. You must work somewhere. What do you do?”

Reaching into the dirty water, Alfred pulled the plug and drained the sink. “I’m a night guard for a corporation called Katsuro Incorporated, a lab about a mile from here.”

“Why did you choose to be a night guard?”

The American hesitated. There was a short answer to that question, but there was also a much longer, more complicated answer. He decided the short answer would be better. “It pays well and I don’t mind the hours, plus it’s close enough to walk, so I don’t have to get a car or pay for a taxi.”

“I see.”

Even though the small man sounded genuinely interested in Alfred’s life, he found himself wanting to move the topic away from himself. But if Arthur couldn’t tell him anything about being an angel, then what were they supposed to talk about?

“How’d you get that burn, Arthur?” he finally asked after a few quiet minutes had gone by and he’d almost finished putting his kitchen back in order. There was no immediate answer, and he glanced to where Arthur sat on the couch to see the angel looking out the window. “Arthur?”

“I think it was the lightning.”

“Angels can be struck by lightning?”

“Yes. It doesn’t happen very often because of how fast we fly, but it does happen, and in a storm as big as that one was, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out I was struck. Bloody thing hurt like hell, and there was nothing I could do about it.” His voice got quiet towards the end, as if it was drowning in the memory of how helpless he’d felt in those few moments after the initial pain.

Alfred recognized that tone immediately and went into the living room; he flopped down on the recliner next to the couch and smiled at the injured man. “Dude, I’m just impressed that you’re even alive. Struck by lightning, crashing in an alleyway like that, and not even a broken bone? Angels must be invincible.”

That earned him a small smile.

“Not quite, but we are much tougher than humans.” Turning, Arthur settled on the couch as comfortably as he could without leaning on his burn. “Alfred?”

“Yeah?”

“Could we watch your TV? I’m curious as to why so many humans dedicate so much of their time to it.”

His way of wording the request sounded so much like he was doing an experiment with rats that Alfred didn’t risk replying for fear that he would burst out laughing. Instead, he picked up the remote and turned the TV on, flipping through the channels until he found something he thought Arthur would like. “Up and down arrows change the channel, left and right adjust the volume.”

“Thank you.”

It was the oddest thing, to sit in his shitty apartment watching TV with an angel he’d rescued, but Alfred didn’t mind. He enjoyed seeing the small man’s reactions to the various shows he discovered, and thought that he’d never be bored again as long as the angel was around. Sitting there, it was easy to pretend that it would be like this forever, even though he knew the peace that the angel brought with him wasn’t going to last very long.


	4. Chapter 4

Humming softly, Arthur let his hands slowly drift through the water and watched as the bubbles floated around. Finally, he was going to rid himself of the filth still stuck to him and he wasn’t going to smell like a dumpster anymore. Even better, he got to soak in a bathtub full of hot water just like he would have done at home. The tub was as full as it could get, so the water would stop just below his chest if he happened to sit up. But for now he was lounging, letting the warmth soothe his aching body and soak away the grime from the alley. It was true that he didn’t have any broken bones or serious injuries besides the burn, he still felt bruised, and he was tired despite having done nothing but nap and watch TV with Alfred all day.

A stray bubble caught on his wrist and he lifted his arm, looking at it closely, watching the colors move about on the dome-shaped surface. It was beautiful, and it reminded him of the sky back home, making him think about his friends and family. They were probably worried sick about him, and there he was taking a bubble bath in Alfred’s bathroom like he hadn’t a care in the world. He felt a little guilty, but there wasn’t much he could do until he went to sleep, and he was enjoying his bath too much to rush.

Eventually, though, he had to stop lazing about and actually wash himself, so he picked up the rag Alfred had given him and soaked it in the water before carefully scrubbing himself. His face was first, then his neck and shoulders, his arms and chest then stomach, then both legs and both feet. Reaching around, he cleaned his lower back and sides but couldn’t manage anything more no matter how hard he tried.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he muttered at his reflection, a frown creasing his forehead. How was he supposed to wash his wings if he couldn’t reach? Alfred had offered to help, if Arthur needed it, but the Angel’s pride refused. He was a grown man and had been self-sufficient for decades—he didn’t need help taking a bath.

Twisting and contorting his body in every imaginable way without causing himself too much pain, Arthur tried desperately to reach far enough to wash his back and wings. The burn was the problem—it was getting in the way, and if it hadn’t been for the burn then he’d have finished several minutes ago.

This was the most embarrassing thing he’d ever had the misfortune of experiencing. He was an Angel, for sot’s sake! He should be able to handle this!

“Nng! Come on! So…close…! Ah!” Pain lanced through the wound and he let his arms fall to his sides, breathing a little harder than normal as he waited for the pain to fade.

“Bloody lightning…”

He could, of course, ask Alfred for help, but Arthur thought he’d die—again—from embarrassment if he had to resort to that. The blond human had already done too much for him, and he was perfectly capable of finishing on his own. At least, he was when there wasn’t a giant burn in the middle of his back.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this…_

In all his years as a human and an Angel, he’d never needed help with something like this.

“Alfred?” the golden blond called, looking towards the closed door; he was still a little out of breath.

“Yeah?” the American man’s voice sounded from just on the other side of the door only a moment later, and Arthur felt his already-flushed face grow warmer.

“I…uh…I need help,” he mumbled in defeat, shifting onto his knees with his hands in his lap.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I need your help.” He spoke louder this time and with less emotion coloring his tone so that he wouldn’t sound nervous or upset. The door opened and he closed his eyes, his hands held over his most private of places to shield himself from view of the human he could hear coming into the bathroom.

_This is so embarrassing…_

He could feel Alfred’s presence and knew the man was looking at him, but the tall blond had yet to say anything. It made him uncomfortable to be naked in front of the man, even though Alfred had already seen him naked once before. That really just made this even worse—at least he’d been unconscious the first time. Now he had to sit there feeling those unbelievably blue eyes drilling into his back and hope to heaven that the human wasn’t judging his pale skin and thin body, wasn’t thinking how weak and pathetic he had to be to ask for help.

_Don’t be ridiculous. He’d never think that, and what do I care if he likes the way I look, anyway?_

“I can’t reach,” he said quietly after over a minute had passed, breaking the silence.

Alfred started, apparently snapping out of some sort of daze, but didn’t look away from the smaller man. Embarrassed, Arthur glanced up at him just long enough to notice the man’s awkward body language and the way he was shifting nervously from foot to foot. It upset him more than it should have—what the hell did Alfred have to be so uncomfortable about?! At least he had his clothes on! And what the hell was he staring at with those bloody blue eyes, anyway?!

“Stop staring at me, you git, and help me so I can get dressed!” It came out harsher than he’d intended it to, and he could feel Alfred’s confusion at his tone, along with a small amount of hurt. Realizing that he’d hurt the tall man’s feelings by snapping at him without reason, Arthur sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to needing help.”

Alfred did his best to smile. “It’s cool. What do you need help with?”

Lifting a hand but still shielding his groin from view, Arthur gestured at his back. “I can’t reach because of the burn.”

“Got it.”

Alfred wasted no time in finding a clean rag, dampening it with warm water and a little bit of soap, and kneeling by the bathtub. He kept his eyes on the rag, knowing that this was too similar to his earlier fantasy for him to handle it with any sort of composure. As gently as he could, he began to wash the fair skin around the burn and carefully wiped the burn itself to remove any fuzz from the shirt Arthur had been wearing. The dirt he’d missed earlier came away and he noticed for the first time that faint scars marred Arthur’s body. Seeing the old wounds upset him—he didn’t like to think that the Angel had been hurt so many times and was dealing with yet another serious injury. If it took a lightning bolt to cause a burn like the one that branched out from the center of the petite man’s back, then he couldn’t even imagine what it took to create the scars.

Suddenly, Arthur yelped and flinched away from Alfred’s hand, curling forward so that the American couldn’t see his face.

Startled blue eyes widening, Alfred drew back from the huddled form and looked for the cause of Arthur’s distress. “What? What is it? Did I rub too hard on the burn?” he asked, frantic to think he’d hurt the Angel while letting his mind wander.

With his shoulders hunched up to his ears and his wings spread as wide as they could go, Arthur shook his head. He was trembling and his jaw was clenched too tightly for him to speak, but that was probably a good thing. There was no knowing what would have come out of his mouth otherwise. It wasn’t pain that had made him flinch the way he had, but the reality wasn’t much better.

“Arthur?” Alfred was timid as he reached out to touch the Angel’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“…fine.” His voice was strained and it was difficult to force that one simple word past his teeth, but he managed to sound relatively normal.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you…”

The Angel shook his head again. The burn wasn’t the problem, but now he _really_ needed to be alone, and he definitely didn’t want the human behind him to know why. “Are you finished with my back?”

Alfred blinked at the question. “What? Oh, yeah, I’m done. Did you need anything else?”

“No, I can take care of the rest. Thank you for your help.”

A small smile helped to relieve some of the worry in the American’s expression. “No problem. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything else.” He waited for Arthur to nod then left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

_That was weird. I know I didn’t scrub too hard on the burn, and that didn’t look like a reaction to pain._

The only thing he could think of was that his hand had brushed against the base of Arthur’s right wing, and then the Angel had tensed up. That didn’t really explain it, even if his wings were sore or sensitive. A tiny touch like that one had been—Al had barely even felt the feathers against his skin—shouldn’t have done a thing. Besides, there was something about the way Arthur had curled up and the tone he’d used that bothered Al. It nagged at his memory, reminding him of something that he couldn’t quite place. Where had he seen that before?

Stretching his muscular frame out on the couch, Alfred racked his brain for an explanation as he stared blankly at whatever commercial was currently showing on the TV. It might have been pain, but that wasn’t likely, and Arthur would have said so if Al had done something that hurt. That hadn’t been a reaction to being tickled, either.

The sound of the shower turning on distracted him for a moment, and he forced his mind away from thoughts of Arthur standing in the water. If he was honest with himself, Alfred had to admit that he was having almost no luck with keeping his thoughts appropriate when it came to the Angel. Even the littlest thing could be turned into a fantasy without a moment’s notice, which wouldn’t have been a problem if it weren’t for the fact that the Angel was always less than a room away. How was he supposed to…take care of himself…if he was constantly worrying about being heard or walked in on by the object of his lust?

This was all so ridiculous that Alfred was starting to wonder if he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. Really, what were the chances that an Angel, a real Angel, just happened to be struck by lightning and just happened to crash in an alleyway in New York City, and Al just happened to find him before anyone else while walking home from work? That all seemed about as likely as Arthur ever thinking about Al the way Al thought about him.

As much as Alfred might wish otherwise, there was no way the Angel would ever be attracted to a simple human. Alfred didn’t even know if Angels _were_ attracted to others in a sexual fashion and couldn’t imagine what it took to arouse one. Angels were supposed to be pure and innocent, right? So even if they did become aroused, they wouldn’t act on it. Hell, they might even worry they were being corrupted and try to get away from whatever was causing it. Alfred had been like that when he was younger, shying away from intimate touches and then being too embarrassed to admit that he was aroused.

And just like that, Alfred realized what Arthur had reminded him off.

_Was he…aroused?_

It seemed reasonable and impossible at the same time—maybe his back was overly sensitive because of the burn, and being touched there was arousing. On the other hand, Alfred had no idea if Angels had sex or could even become aroused in the first place. But now he remembered why the Angel’s reaction had seemed so familiar. Alfred himself had done almost the exact same thing when—

_No. Don’t think about it. Those days are over. Besides, there’s no way Arthur would get turned on by me, even if his back is that stupidly sensitive. It has to be something else._

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with any other explanation, and he had no intentions of asking.

“Yeah,” he said aloud to himself in a sarcastic tone, “that’d be a great conversation. ‘Hey, Arthur, did it make you horny when I touched your back? Cause I really wanna do you, so if it’s that easy to turn you on, sex would be great.’ Yeah, right. Not gonna happen, Al.”

“What’s not going to happen?”

Alfred sat up so quickly that he lost his balance and fell off the couch, toppling to the floor and rolling partway under the coffee table, where he curled into a ball with his face in his hands.

_Nice going, Alfred. Way to fuck that one up._

“Alfred?” Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, Arthur leaned down and peered under the table to look at the American curiously. “Are you all right?”

“Yep.” The word was muffled. “I’m fine.”

“What were you saying? I only heard the last bit.”

“Uh…nothing. I was just talking to myself.” Relieved that the petite man hadn’t heard everything, Alfred uncurled and sat up slowly, not meeting Arthur’s green eyes. “Did you have any trouble finishing your bath?”

“No, but I wondered if I might borrow a new set of clothes? The pajamas you gave me are dirty, and I’m not sure I want to spend my entire stay in your sleepwear.”

Right. The Angel he wanted to sleep with didn’t have any clothes. “I’ll get you something clean to wear. Just throw the dirty stuff by the washing machine.”

Arthur nodded and went back into the bathroom to fetch the pajamas while Alfred climbed to his feet and wandered into his room and to the closet. There were plenty of clothes to choose from, but he didn’t know what Arthur would like, and he couldn’t focus on picking something out while his mind was still reeling from what had just happened. The fact that Arthur had almost overheard him admitting that he wanted to have sex with the Angel…it was too embarrassing. Alfred was almost ashamed of himself for daring to say it out loud. What kind of sick bastard had sex fantasies about an injured Angel, anyway?

 _This sick bastard has sex fantasies about the injured Angel he rescued,_ the tall blond thought forlornly, sighing as he let himself fall back to sit on the bed. _This sick bastard needs serious help._

A quiet knock at the door drew Alfred’s attention away from his mini pity party and he smiled a little. “You don’t have to knock, Arthur.”

The door opened and said Angel entered the bedroom, towel still firmly wrapped around his slim waist. “Did you find clean clothes?”

Lifting his hand, Alfred gestured at the open closet without looking at the other man. “Take your pick. I didn’t know what you’d like, so you can just take whatever you want.”

“Thank you.” Curious, Arthur went to the closet and surveyed its contents. A small part of it was dedicated to what looked like uniforms, which he decided must be for Alfred’s job as a night guard. There were some slacks and dress shirts, several ties and a suit, and a few pairs of shoes sat on top of a trunk on the floor of the closet. The rest of the hanging space was dedicated to T-shirts, jeans and various jackets, all of which were definitely too big for Arthur.

“What’s in the trunk?”

“Hm?” Alfred stopped examining the carpet long enough to look at the trunk for a few seconds. “Uniform.”

“For your job?”

“No.”

Arthur glanced at the man sitting on the bed, worried by his tone. It was obvious that Alfred didn’t want to talk about whatever was in the trunk, so Arthur decided to let it go even though it made him more curious. Maybe he’d take a peek while the tall man was sleeping, just to see what sort of uniform it was, but for now he needed to pick some clothes so that he could wear something other than just a towel. Eventually, he settled on a pair of jean shorts that went to past his knees and a navy blue shirt with a white star on the chest. He also found a belt hidden among the ties, which was lucky because the shorts would have fallen around his ankles within moments without a belt to hold them up.

Dropping the towel without bothering to warn the man sitting behind him, the Angel dressed in the borrowed clothing then turned so Alfred could see what he’d chosen.

“How do I look?” he asked, blushing a little.

The American smiled in return, blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “I’d say you look human, but you’re glowing a little, so that isn’t entirely true.”

Arthur blinked, surprised. That wasn’t something he ever expected to hear. “You can see my glow?”

“Yeah, it’s how I found you in the alley in the first place. Why, is that weird?”

“No…just something for me to think about....”

Silence settled over the two men, not awkward but not entirely comfortable, either. The sounds of the TV floated in from the other room, providing background noise as they occupied themselves with their own thoughts.

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Why’d you flip out when I was washing your back?”

Oh, bugger. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, especially not after the comment about his glow. “N-no reason…”

The tall blond frowned. “Don’t lie to me, Arthur. I know there are things you can’t tell me about being an Angel, and I’m okay with that, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t lie to me. If it’s one of those things you can’t tell me, then just say so.”

For the first time in his entirety of being an Angel, Arthur felt guilty. After everything Alfred had done for him, Arthur was lying to him about something that was common knowledge among Angels and was probably something the human needed to know if Arthur was going to stay with him. Maybe he didn’t need to know everything about what had happened in the bathroom, but the least Arthur could do was give him a basic explanation. He deserved that much.

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” the golden blond said sincerely, standing before the bespectacled man like a child apologizing to an adult. “I won’t lie to you, I promise. I ‘flipped out’ because Angel wings are extremely sensitive, and it startled me when you touched mine. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to feel bad even though it was an accident. That’s all, I swear.”

Alfred nodded to show that he believed the smaller man. “Okay, the wings are sensitive. Got it. No problem.” He grinned and stood, stretching so that his back popped quietly. “Mm…I’m gonna make some dinner. You hungry?”

“Yes, but I’d like to help you cook, if you don’t mind. I feel lazy when I sit around and you do all the work, and don’t try to tell me an injured Angel shouldn’t do anything but rest. I’m stronger than you on my worst day even if you’re at your best.” There was a slight playfulness in his tone when he spoke, and he was smiling.

A laugh escaped Alfred before he could stop it, and he grinned at the shorter man. “Pffft, yeah right, Angel Boy. You were unconscious when I found you, remember? At your worst, I’m saving your haloed ass, and I was nowhere near my best when I did it.”

Indignant, Arthur crossed his arms over his narrow chest and huffed. “My backside isn’t haloed, Alfred, and, I think you’ll notice, neither is my head. As a human, you can’t possibly hope to match me in strength, speed, or intelligence.”

“Whoa, someone’s got an ego the size of New York,” Alfred teased as he left the bedroom, looking back at Arthur over his shoulder. “No wonder you don’t have a halo—your head’s too big for one.”

“My head is a perfectly normal size!” Arthur snapped, following the taller blond into the kitchen. “And if you must know, an Angel only has his or her halo if he or she also has his or her wand!”

“Which you lost,” the American pointed out, “when you were struck by lightning. What were you doing, flying too close to the clouds?”

A red tint colored Arthur’s pale cheeks as his green eyes glared at the tall human. “I was trying to go home! I’d been working all night, and all I wanted was to go home, have a bath and some tea, and go to bed.” His tone softened and he lowered his gaze from Alfred’s grinning face. “Now I’m stuck on earth, I lost my wand, I’m hurt, and I can’t even fly. No one knows where I am, either.” Turning, he left the kitchen and went to the couch, curling up on a corner of it.

Alfred watched him with concern, worried that his teasing had gone too far. Maybe blaming the Angel for getting hurt was uncalled for, but it had slipped out before Alfred could stop himself. It hadn’t been his intention to upset the petite man, and yet it seemed he’d managed to with little to no effort.

“Hey, Arthur, you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes…I’m fine…”

Worried blue eyes never leaving the figure on the couch, Alfred began to move about the kitchen and gathered everything he would need to make dinner. He thought spaghetti would be a good idea, since it would leave plenty of leftovers to have for lunch tomorrow, and it was easy to make and clean up from, so he wouldn’t have to rush to get to work on time.

As much as it pained him, he knew he’d have to dress and leave soon, and that meant leaving Arthur alone in his apartment for several hours. Even though the Angel would probably just sleep the entire time he was gone, Alfred didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone, especially in a neighborhood like the one he lived in, though he personally hadn’t had any trouble yet. The thought of someone breaking into his apartment while Arthur was there, alone and injured, was terrifying. If something happened to him, Alfred would never forgive himself.

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Alfred?” The petite blond still hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. “I have to leave for work at about eight, and I won’t be back until almost six tomorrow morning. Will you be okay here by yourself?” he asked, trying to sound casual while he put a pot of water on the stove and set it to boil.

“Yes, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Alfred, I’m an Angel. I could feel your concern, and I understand why you are worried, but I promise I’ll be fine. Remember, on my worst day, I’m stronger than a human at his best.” He offered the man in the kitchen a weak smile. “Besides, technically, I’m already dead, so it’s not as if anyone could kill me.”

The word surprised Alfred so much that he stopped what he was doing right in the middle of pouring the spaghetti sauce into the pan. “What do you mean, you’re technically dead? Angels aren’t like zombies, are they?”

Arthur laughed a little. “No, we’re not like zombies. But you’ve heard that good people go to heaven and become angels when they die, and bad people go to hell and become demons. That’s pretty close to the truth.”

“Oh. Cool.” He wanted to ask the pale man how he’d died, but he had the feeling that such a question wouldn’t be well-received, so he kept his curiosity to himself. Besides, asking someone how they died was too depressing of a topic to have at dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, leaning against the door frame as Alfred finished buttoning up the black shirt of his uniform.

“Yes, I’m sure. The door will be locked and I know how to protect myself. You really don’t have to worry about me so much. Besides, I’ll be asleep the entire time you’re gone.”

Alfred smiled and pulled on his jacket. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Feel free to watch TV or read my books or whatever, and there’s plenty of food in the kitchen if you want a snack,” he said over his shoulder as he moved from the bedroom to the living room. Snatching his keys off the coffee table, he quickly checked to make sure he had everything he needed then smiled at the Angel. “I’ll try to be quiet when I get back.”

Without thinking, he stepped forward, placing his hand on the shorter man’s cheek, and kissed his forehead. “Sweet dreams, Artie.” Both men instantly froze, Arthur’s eyes wide with shock as he stared at the face barely an inch from his own. A dark red blush quickly spread over his pale cheeks, mirrored by the one on Alfred’s tanned face, then the taller of the two quickly backed away and left the apartment without another word.

Several moments passed before Arthur found himself able to move, and then he darted to the window to watch Alfred walk away down the dark street. He stayed there until the tall blond was no longer in sight, and then he settled onto the couch with his legs crossed under him and his chin in his hand.

“What the bloody hell was that all about…?”

The kiss had been out of nowhere and he hadn’t even had time to react before Alfred was gone. His face was still red with the blush, and he could almost feel the warmth of the other man’s hand on his cheek as if it was still there. This was all so strange—he didn’t know what to think, or what to do. Really, what could he do? He wasn’t angry about it, or embarrassed, and he’d felt the waves of affection coming off of Alfred well enough to know that it had been an innocent enough gesture. Not only that, but the look on the human’s face had been just as shocked as Arthur knew his own must have been.

For nearly fifteen minutes, he sat on the couch without moving, his mind spinning as it tried to make sense of what had just happened. When it occurred to him that there was one person who could offer him some useful advice, he all but flew off the couch and into the bedroom, though he felt painfully slow without the use of his wings. There he hurried to change into a clean pair of soft shorts and climbed into Alfred’s bed. It still smelled amazing, just like the man himself, and once he was lying on his stomach with the blanket covering his legs and lower back, he had no trouble nuzzling into the pillows and relaxing completely. After that it was only a matter of closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

_His meadow greeted him the moment he abandoned his conscious mind. It was empty aside from him, but that was to be expected. There were countless meadows like the one he’d given to Mei, but this particular one was just for him. He stood on a rise by a large oak tree, surrounded by rolling hills with fog in the low places and a misty forest in the distance. The grass was almost as high as his waist, and he ran his fingers over the thin stalks, smiling fondly. Soft birdsong drifted through the air, reminding him of the home he’d had before the home he had now._

_Normally, he used this meadow to relax and enjoy a little piece and quiet. Tonight, he let his mind expand and wander until he felt the presence of another drifting dream-Angel, and then he gently pulled the entity into his meadow until a short dream-Angel with light blond hair and pale bluish gray eyes stood before him._

_“Tino.”_

_Startled, the shorter dream-Angel, who was little more than a boy, really, lifted his slightly round face to meet Arthur’s gaze. His face brightened with a smile when he recognized the other._

_“Arthur! You’re okay!” Tino threw his arms around the green-eyed dream-Angel and hugged him tightly, his wings fluttering in his excitement._

_Smiling, Arthur returned the hug before gently pushing Tino away and looking into his eyes intently. “I need a favor.”_

_“Anything!”_

_“Find Romulus. I need to speak with him.”_

_Tino’s smile was instantly replaced by a more serious expression. “Of course, Arthur, though you’re not really dressed to see him, if you ask me.” Then he vanished, and Arthur knew that the other Angel had woken up and gone to find Romulus, as he’d requested. There was no telling how long he would have to wait to see the Angel he’d asked for, so Arthur contented himself to stretch out on a patch of clover under the tree and watch the clouds._

_It was a perfect day, as it always was in his meadow. The sky was a pale blue with wispy gray clouds floating about, forming shapes then losing them. A gentle breeze made the grass sway and ruffled his hair, pleasantly cool against his bare skin. It was so peaceful that he’d have fallen asleep if he hadn’t already been dreaming. After a while, he let his eyes fall closed and sighed deeply, content in his meadow in a way he wasn’t anywhere else._

_“Arthur.” Someone touched his shoulder, and the resting dream-Angel opened his eyes to see a tall, broad-shouldered dream-Angel with wavy brown hair down to his chin and a kind smile kneeling beside him._

_Sitting up, Arthur managed a respectful half-bow. “Romulus.”_

_The brunet dream-Angel laughed and promptly settled into the grass, his brown-and-gold robes spread around him. “There’s no need to be so formal, Arthur. This is your meadow, not the Council Hall. Besides, you’re hardly dressed for that.”_

_Tino had said nearly the same thing, but Arthur hadn’t given it much thought. Now, because Romulus had mentioned it, he lowered his gaze to himself and immediately flushed a bright red—he was naked except for the shorts he’d borrowed from Alfred!_

_“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath as he wrapped his arms around his narrow chest, embarrassed to be so exposed in front of the other dream-Angel. “I’m sorry, Romulus. I’m not decent.”_

_Laughing again, Romulus patted his red-faced companion’s shoulder. “It’s nothing to apologize for, Arthur, though I am curious. What happened to your toga?”_

_“It’s a long story.”_

_“I’d say so, but your friends made me promise to ask you how you are. They’ve been very worried about you.”_

_“I am…well. All things considered.” There was a heaviness in his tone that he knew Romulus would pick up on, and he wasn’t at all surprised when the brunet lifted his hand._

_“May I?”_

_Arthur nodded his consent and the two dream-Angels turned to face each other on that little patch of clover, the breeze swirling around them._

_“There are a few things you will see that I wish to ask your opinion on,” Arthur said quietly._

_“Of course.” Smiling gently, Romulus placed two of his fingers on Arthur’s forehead, the dark olive color of his skin emphasized next to the other’s pale face. They both closed their eyes as their minds linked, and Romulus found himself viewing Arthur’s memories as though he was living them._

_It was amusing to feel the blond’s emotions, especially his annoyance at the rain and his eagerness to return home. The memory of Mei brought a smile to his lips—it was so pleasing to see what a difference Angels could make if they were given the chance. Soon it was back out into the rain, relief at being finished and ponderings of tea before bed filling his thoughts. So suddenly that Romulus flinched, he felt the searing pain in Arthur’s back, a pain stronger than any Angel should ever have to experience. He felt his body growing weak and falling, and then the blackness that meant Arthur had fallen unconscious. A few small shudders passed through him, and he had a vague awareness of someone else’s presence, but that was all._

_Finally, the darkness lifted, only to be replaced by aches and a pain so intense he could hardly move. Pity swelled within Romulus’ heart but he held it away from the link—he knew very well that Arthur would never want to be pitied. Slowly, the pain faded but didn’t vanish completely, and then there was confusion and fear, curiosity that drove him to action._

_Through Arthur, Romulus explored the small apartment, shared in his horror at discovering the burn between his wings and met the human who had saved him. The search for Arthur’s wand was almost comical despite the frantic emotions attached to the memory, as was the discovery of the television. He found Arthur’s memory of the bath interesting, especially Arthur’s guilt for enjoying it and his embarrassment at having to ask the human—Alfred—for help. The moment when he felt a touch on Arthur’s wing made him gasp, and the trembling in Arthur’s body extended to his own. Still, he was impressed with how calmly Arthur handled it._

_The memory grew fuzzy for a few moments as Arthur consciously skipped forward, and then Romulus was in the bedroom again, dressing in the borrowed human clothes just as Arthur had done. He laughed at the memory of turning to ask for Alfred’s opinion on how he looked. It was Alfred’s comment about seeing Arthur’s glow that caught his attention the most, however. The implications behind such simple words were immense, and Romulus knew right away that it was one of the things Arthur wished to discuss._

_His vision blurred as Arthur skipped ahead again, then he very, very clearly saw the human man come close, felt the warmth of a hand on his cheek and the soft touch of lips on his forehead, sensed Alfred’s surprise and embarrassment mixing with Arthur’s. To Romulus’ surprise, there was no flustered anger or irritation attached to the memory—displays of affection weren’t generally welcomed by the green-eyed Angel, yet he hadn’t minded the kiss._

_The last of Arthur’s memories was watching Alfred walk away, then the link was broken and the two dream-Angels opened their eyes. Arthur looked expectantly at the older dream-Angel, hoping to hear some reassurance or explanation._

_As he considered everything that had just been shown to him, Romulus plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers._

_“I believe I can put at least one of your worries to rest,” he said at last, and the other dream-Angel sat up straighter._

_“You can?”_

_Romulus nodded, examining the bit of grass. “Your wand was discovered on a rooftop, and when you were nowhere to be found, it was taken to your dwelling to await your return. It is undamaged, and was cleaned by some of your friends.”_

_Relief flooded Arthur to know that his wand was safe and not in the hands of a human who might have stumbled upon it. “Thank you. I was afraid it was lost for good.”_

_“Yes, though I’m sorry to admit that no one realized you were missing until several hours after your wand was found.”_

_That was no surprise to the blond—it was fairly common for him to sleep late into the day after a night of work, and no one would have bothered him until the next afternoon. “No, I should have contacted you sooner.”_

_“Judging by what you just showed me, I’d say you waited for your best opportunity. Now, other than the wand, which parts did you wish to speak with me about?”_

_An embarrassed blush crept onto Arthur’s cheeks. “The human who saved me. Alfred.”_

_“What about him? He seems kind, and I am grateful for his help to you.”_

_“He is very kind, and I will never be able to thank him enough, but there is something about him that I can’t quite place. Why is it that he can see my glow? I thought only Angels could see it.”_

_“Yes, that is usually the case,” Romulus mused, abandoning his blade of grass and choosing a clover instead._

_“Usually?” the blond pressed, not liking at all the way his chest tightened when he tried to consider what that might mean._

_“There are rare humans capable of seeing an Angel’s glow. It’s supposed to mean the human’s heart is pure even after temptation and trial.” Romulus looked up at the sky, letting the clover fall from his hand. “You’ll have to learn more about him if you wish to discover why he can see yours. I’m afraid that’s all the advice I can give on that particular question.”_

_That wasn’t nearly as much as he’d been hoping for, but Arthur knew better than to push Romulus. “Thank you.”_

_“Was there anything else?”_

_“I wondered if perhaps you might have a guess as to why he kissed me.”_

_“Please, Arthur, you can hardly call that a kiss,” Romulus replied, his tone surprising the blond dream-Angel. “That was a peck, nothing more than a sign of his affection for you. If I had to guess, I would say he simply enjoys your company, which I’m sure you’ve noticed is true. Why, did it displease you?”_

_“No, I was just surprised. And yes, I have. He seems very lonely.” As much as he wanted to ask just what exactly was considered to be a real kiss, Arthur let it drop. “The last thing I wanted to ask about is my back. How long will it take to heal?”_

_Romulus shrugged. “An earth week, perhaps a little more. This Alfred is doing a wonderful job caring for you, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were fully recovered in just a few earth days.”_

_Ah, good news at last! “Then I will return as soon as I’m able. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. Your advice is greatly appreciated.”_

_A smile that must have melted hearts when he was a human spread over the brunet dream-Angel’s face. “Of course, Arthur. I’m glad you’re doing well, and I’ll pass it on to your friends that you’ll be returning to us soon. Unfortunately, I have business to attend to, so I must leave you.” His tone and expression were both reluctant, and Arthur had to remind himself once again that while Romulus was powerful and wise, he much preferred to relax than to work. Perhaps that was why he’d been put in charge—he worked for others regardless of his own desires._

_Both dream-Angels stood and bowed to one another._

_“Thank you, Romulus. Good bye.”_

_“Don’t hesitate to ask for me again should you need anything else.” The brunet waved once then vanished, leaving Arthur alone in the meadow._

_He stood there, looking out over the dips and rises as he considered what Romulus had said. While he was relieved that his back would soon be healed, he couldn’t help but think that a few days wasn’t nearly long enough to get to know Alfred well enough to understand why the human could see his glow. Or to figure out what counted as a “real kiss.”_

_“Oh, come off it, Arthur. He probably just meant that it was the sort of kiss an adult gives a child or something equally innocent,” he said out loud since there was no chance of being overheard. “Besides, how would you go about discovering what he considers a real kiss? You’re not going to kiss Alfred, that’s for sure. Though if he keeps doing things out of the blue like that, he might kiss you.”_

_Arthur paused, surprised to hear those words come out of his own mouth. “What am I even saying? Alfred isn’t going to kiss me, and I’m not going to kiss him, and that’s that.”_

_Suddenly no longer content in the meadow, the blond began to return to the conscious world._

The moment he opened his eyes, Arthur knew it had been only a few hours since he’d fallen asleep. It wasn’t nearly enough for him to feel fully awake, but he felt restless and was out of bed a moment later, pacing the small bedroom with his hands held behind his back.

None of this made sense, and talking to Romulus hadn’t helped as much as he’d been hoping it would. Even without worrying about his wand and knowing his back was healing, his thoughts and emotions were in turmoil. He liked Alfred—there, he admitted it, even if it was only to himself, but that was just it. No matter how many times he admitted he genuinely liked and cared for the human, he would never be able to say it out loud.

That had always been his problem, the inability to express affection even to those who truly deserved it. And while Alfred cooked for him and let him sleep in his bed and nursed his back and kissed his forehead and smiled at him like he was the center of his universe and all-in-all made Arthur feel rather special, he’d never be able to make Alfred feel that way. He couldn’t. Playful banter was fine, watching TV together was fine and eating dinner and cleaning up and talking were all fine. Being friends was perfectly acceptable and Arthur had no trouble at all with showing it if he was friends with someone. But Alfred treated him better than just that, and Arthur was ashamed to know that no matter what the human did, he’d never get the thanks he deserved.

“You’re a git, Arthur Kirkland. A bloody wanker who can’t even smile when someone kisses your forehead or gives you a nickname so cute it’s disgusting. It’s amazing you were ever chosen to be an Angel.”

As much as he hated himself for it, and wished he could be more open about how he felt, he knew everything he’d just said about himself was true. He was cold and callus and short-tempered when he should be warm and inviting and friendly. Even now, when what he wanted the most was to thank Alfred for everything he’d done and make it up to him somehow, the thought of actually doing so got stuck somewhere and all he could think about was that Alfred might laugh at him or not care at all or ridicule him for being grateful, or perhaps demand more in payment for his help.

“No, he’s not like that. Alfred’s kind and generous and warm. He’d make a great Angel. You’re an awful bloody git for thinking he’d be that nasty and greedy,” he told himself, then turned to sit on the bed—his gaze landed on the trunk in the closet, the one that contained the mysterious uniform Alfred hadn’t wanted to tell him about.

Curiosity exploded in Arthur’s body, making his fingers tingle. He wanted to know what was in the trunk, but he didn’t want to betray Alfred’s trust by looking without permission. Several minutes passed as he battled with himself, until eventually he couldn’t take it anymore. Just a peek. One little peek wouldn’t hurt anything.

Kneeling in front of the trunk, he opened the two latches and lifted the heavy lid, peering into the shadowy confines. Something glittered in the low light, attracting his attention, and he reached into the trunk to touch neatly folded fabric with bits of metal on it. Arthur’s curiosity quickly got the better of him and he opened the trunk all the way so that the light could reach whatever it was that he’d touched, and his eyes widened.

Lying folded in the bottom of the trunk was a uniform decorated with medals and little bars of different stripes of color. It had a distinctively military feel to it, and beneath the first uniform he could see a second one with camo print that was in worse condition but obviously just as well cared for. In the corner of the trunk was a little black velvet box that drew Arthur’s gaze like a magnet. He didn’t even hesitate before picking it up and opening it. Nestled inside was yet another medal, though the medallion hanging from this one was in the shape of a heart, and it was purple.

“He’s a veteran.”

It seemed so obvious, now that he said it out loud. How Alfred knew how to treat his wound, why he was so self-efficient and surprisingly neat for a bachelor living on his own. Military training didn’t go away just because a soldier moved on after the battle—it just became useful in other aspects of life. And little wonder the human hadn’t wanted to discuss what he kept in the trunk. No doubt his memories of the military were far from pleasant, and the uniform didn’t look that old, so he must have only recently been discharged.

Gently, Arthur closed the box and placed it back in the trunk, then shut the lid and returned everything in the closet to its proper place. He felt guilty for looking without permission, but he didn’t regret it. Rather, he was curious about Alfred’s time in the military, but knew he couldn’t ask without upsetting the tall blond, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

One thing was for sure, he was definitely going to pay closer attention to the human than he had been.


	6. Chapter 6

His footsteps were the only sound, echoing down the long hallway and back, and he absently pushed his glasses farther up his nose only to have them slide back down to where they’d been. Alfred didn’t even notice. He was too busy thinking about everything that had happened that day.

_I can’t believe there’s an Angel sleeping in my apartment right now._

It seemed so unreal, now that he was at work rather than back home with Arthur in just the next room where Al could see him any time he wanted. He wondered idly if the petite blond had gone to bed already or if he’d decided to stay up and watch more TV. The thought of him curled up on the couch watching late-night cop dramas or terrible scifi movies with even worse graphics made Alfred chuckle, and he imagined how adorable the Angel would look if he fell asleep on the couch and Al found him there when he got home in the morning. He would shut the TV off and carry the smaller man into the bedroom and tuck him in, and part of Alfred desperately wanted that experience even though he knew it wasn’t altogether likely. So far, Arthur seemed like the mature type of person who would go to bed relatively early, and he was still so tired from his ordeal that Alfred was a little impressed he hadn’t slept even more than the nap the Angel had taken.

It occurred to the American then that he might want to wash his bed sheets some time tomorrow, considering that Arthur was hurt and clean sheets were definitely better for recovering from a wound than dirty sheets were. Though he supposed his sheets weren’t all that dirty—he himself showered every day and never took food into the bedroom, so there wasn’t much chance that his sheets needed to be washed. Regardless, he would ask Arthur what he preferred and decide based on the Angel’s response. The thought almost made him laugh.

_I’m going to go home and ask my new friend the Angel if he wants me to wash my sheets. If anyone else could hear my thoughts, they’d think I’d lost it._

He had to admit, he even sounded a little crazy to himself. No matter how calm he’d been around the Angel so far, internally, he was still partially awestruck by the fact that Angels even existed, and even more so that he actually knew one and was sharing his apartment with one. It was just all so sudden, and it had happened so fast that he’d accepted it without hesitation just to be able to keep up. That, and he didn’t want to freak out in front of Arthur and make a total idiot of himself. Not that now was an opportune time to freak out, either.

At that particular moment, Alfred was walking next to a ten-foot-high chain link fence, a flash light in his hand and security lights mounted on the fence every twenty or so feet lighting his way. It was around midnight, so it seemed as if he was the only living thing in the world, save for the bugs that swirled lazily around the lights overhead. Still, he didn’t allow himself to relax. It was his job to guard Mr. Honda’s property, and Alfred had no intentions of letting his boss down. He remained fully alert and attentive as he finished walking the fence and made his way back inside the large white building. 

“All clear,” the tall man announced as he walked into the security office, and a pair of green eyes looked at him from beneath chocolate brown bangs, accompanied by a small smile.

“ _Bueno,_ ” he responded, slipping into Spanish almost without meaning to. “The others aren’t back yet.”

Alfred nodded and went to the small round table that was one of the few pieces of furniture in the office—the rest consisted of a fridge full of bottled waters, pop and frozen meals, a microwave, a worn out old couch, and the desk where the green-eyed man sat watching the wall of monitors. Four chairs were arranged around the table, and playing cards lay waiting for their owners to return and continue the game of poker that had been paused so the players could make their rounds. With a sigh, Al dropped into his chair and let his eyes close, leaning back comfortably while he waited for the others.

It wasn’t long before the door opened and two more men walked in. One was short and rather skinny with brown hair and an untamable curl that almost seemed to have a mind of its own, and eyes that rarely appeared to be open. The other man was even taller than Alfred and broad-shouldered with pale blue eyes and slicked back blond hair beneath his black cap.

“Any trouble?” the man at the desk asked, turning in his swivel chair to face the newcomers.

“Ve~nope!” Smiling happily, the shorter of the two practically skipped over to the table and sat, wriggling excitedly in his chair. “Can we keep playing now, Ludwig?” he asked hopefully in what could only be described as the most adorable Italian accent in existence.

“Not yet, Feliciano,” the blond man responded in a thick German accent as he calmly resumed his own seat. “Your brozher isn’t back from his rounds.”

Feliciano pouted for a moment, unhappy with having to wait, and Alfred and Ludwig shared a knowing look.

“Cheer up, Feli,” Alfred comforted him, grinning slightly. “As soon as Lovino gets back, we’ll get to watch him lose and throw another tantrum.”

That comment made the brunet giggle, and even the man watching the monitors let out a laugh. They both fell silent, however, when the door opened and a man almost identical to Feliciano walked in, the only differences being that his hair was a darker shade of brown and his own wild curl was on the other side of his head. That, and his eyes actually looked like they were open, revealing them to be brown.

“Everything’s fine in my sector, Antonio,” he told the green-eyed man; his voice was a bit deeper than Feliciano’s but had the same tell-tale accent, and it was clear that his brother was the much happier of the two.

“ _Eso es bueno,_ Lovi,” Antonio replied, smiling fondly at the moody Italian—a slight blush darkened Lovino’s cheeks at the nickname and he looked away from the Spaniard, quickly joining the other three men at the table and snatching up his cards.

“You better not have cheated while I was gone, bastards,” he muttered, not making eye contact with any of them.

“Ve…of course not, Lovi!” Feliciano chirped, picking up his own cards as Alfred and Ludwig did the same.

The blush on Lovino’s cheeks darkened. “Don’t call me that, damn it!” he snapped, earning a confused expression from his brother and amused looks from the others. Before anyone had a chance to respond, he pushed a few of his plastic poker chips into the middle of the table and looked at Alfred pointedly in a silent demand that the game continue as if there had been no interruption.

Grinning, Alfred added some of his own chips to the pile. It was always funny to watch Lovino become flustered and agitated at simple things like Antonio calling him “Lovi,” but right now it only reminded him that he’d accidentally called Arthur “Artie” as he was about to leave. And then he’d gone and kissed the Angel’s forehead as if they’d known each other for years instead of less than twenty-four hours.

_Why the hell did I do that?_ he thought, staring at the cards in his hand without really seeing them. _First I check him out—he’s attractive, whatever—but then I start having sex fantasies about him like he’s a star in a porno and I’m a horny fucking teenager. I could have handled that, though. Those daydreams didn’t have to leave my head or lead to anything. But then I kissed him! It was just a little peck on the forehead, but still. Lip-to-skin contact did not ever need to happen. Contact involving lips is unnecessary, period!_

Without even pausing to consider, Alfred added more chips to the pile when it was his turn, his thoughts still as far away from the game of poker as they could get.

_Seriously, Alfred, you need to get your shit together before you go home, or something even worse is going to happen._

Just like that, he imagined finding the Angel asleep on the couch with the TV remote still in his hand and the TV playing some late night commercial, imagined turning off the TV and picking Arthur up, carrying him into the bedroom and tucking him into the bed. Kissing his forehead again, since there couldn’t possibly be any harm in kissing a sleeping man’s forehead, then pulling away to see those impossibly green eyes looking up at him sleepily. His lips would be parted slightly, and he’d turn onto his back, making a small sound of discomfort because of the burn. Then Alfred imagined kissing him, _really_ kissing him, until they were both breathless and he’d somehow ended up on the bed beside the Angel, holding him close.

_I bet his kisses taste like tea,_ he decided, then paused. _You are definitely going to hell, Alfred F. Jones. There’s no doubt about it—your soul is condemned to burn for eternity for wanting to have sex with an Angel._

“Alfred?” Someone touched his arm, startling him out of his grim train of thought, and he blinked a few times when he realized the four other men in the room were staring at him.

“What?”

“Are you all right, _il mio amico?_ ” Feliciano asked, concern making him fall back into his native language.

“Yeah, I’m totally fine. Why?” Shit, had they noticed him daydreaming? They couldn’t possibly have any idea what he’d been thinking about. At least, he hoped not. There was nothing he could imagine that would be more embarrassing than his coworkers finding out that he was having sex fantasies about an Angel with green eyes and a British accent.

_That accent of his is too damn adorable. Everything about him is too god damn adorable._

Forcefully, Alfred derailed the train his thoughts had taken before they could go beyond his control and start into another fantasy. He was at work, for god’s sake! He needed to focus on his job!

“You were making a funny face,” Feli explained in response to the bespectacled man’s question, a cute frown creasing his forehead, “and you didn’t respond when Lovino tried to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Had he really been that distracted? “I’m sorry, Lovino. I guess I was just spacing out.”

The moody Italian rolled his eyes. “Like that fat head of yours is capable of doing anything else, _bastardo._ ”

“Lovi!” Antonio interrupted, turning astonished green eyes on the Italian man. “That was uncalled for, _mi querido,_ ” he admonished gently, trying to catch Lovino’s eye without success, his usual smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he did his best to frown in disapproval.

Blushing again, Lovino rolled his eyes and sneered in an attempt to cover it up. “Either fold or bet so we can keep playing.”

Ignoring the insult, Al looked down at his cards—he had a fairly good hand, but he wasn’t sure if it was good enough to bet on. A glance around the table didn’t do much to help him decide—Feliciano had a terrible poker face, but his almost constant happy-yet-sleepy expression made it hard for the American to figure out if the Italian had a good hand or not. In contrast, Ludwig’s poker face was completely unreadable and Lovino had the same sulking frown as always. Antonio, of course, wasn’t playing—he never did, since he was in charge of watching the monitors and rarely turned his gaze away from them.

Alfred decided to try his luck and added a few chips to the growing pile in the center of the table. Hell, if he’d been lucky enough to find Arthur in that alleyway, then he should have enough luck to win a measly game of poker.

X

_This is it. Twenty-four hours ago, I found an unconscious Angel in this alley._

Quiet, Alfred stood in front of the exact alleyway where he’d discovered Arthur. It looked basically the same, though perhaps it was a little messier after being scoured by him and the Angel while they’d searched it for the missing wand. He was only a few more minutes from home, and his tired body wanted desperately to collapse onto the couch and sleep for the next several hours, but he hesitated.

What if Arthur really was asleep on the couch, and Alfred really did take him into the bedroom and tuck him in? What if he couldn’t help himself and his daydream about kissing the petite man came true? Arthur would never forgive him, and Alfred hated the idea of the Angel being upset with him. So he lingered by the mouth of the alley, stalling for time.

Eventually, though, his body’s fatigue won out and he trudged the rest of the way home, his hands in his pockets and his hood pulled up just like the morning before.

When he walked into his apartment, the first place his eyes went was to the couch. It was empty, and Alfred wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. On the one hand, he was glad Arthur was sleeping comfortably in the bed and wouldn’t be disturbed by his return. On the other, he’d partially hoped he’d get to tuck the Angel in, as ridiculous as it was for him to want to tuck a full-grown man into bed, especially considering that full-grown man was an Angel and was probably way older than Alfred himself was—he was only 26 years old, after all, and Arthur’s physical appearance was at least that old.

Dropping his keys on the coffee table, Alfred took off his utility belt and put it up on the shelf in the closet by the front door, making sure the hand gun was secure in its holster as he did so. Then he kicked off his shoes and sneaked into the bedroom to grab a clean change of boxers and his pajamas. Like a magnet, his gaze was drawn to the still form on the bed, and he quickly found himself transfixed.

Arthur was sound asleep, his arms wrapped around one of Alfred’s pillows as he snuggled into the soft material, the blankets covering his legs and lower back. His wings were only partially folded, draping over his sides and onto the bed as gracefully as anything Alfred had ever seen. The burn between the Angel’s pale shoulder blades was less agitated now, though it would be a few more days before it had made significant progress towards healing.

Without even meaning to, Alfred reached out to touch one of those impossibly soft wings and realized it just in time to stop himself. Arthur had already told him that Angel wings were sensitive—he didn’t want to risk waking the man just because he wanted to touch one. Keeping his eyes away from the sleeping Angel, the tall man gathered what he’d come for and left the bedroom just as quietly as he’d entered it.

Moments later he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, his pajamas beside him on the counter. All he wanted right at that moment was to shower then go to sleep, and his couch had never looked so inviting in all the time he’d owned it. As quickly as he could, he stripped out of his black security uniform and turned the shower on, then waited impatiently for the water to heat up.

Unbidden, his mind conjured up the memory of Arthur kneeling in the tub as he took a bath, his cheeks pink with embarrassment at having to ask for help washing his back. For a moment, Alfred considered taking a cold shower just to force himself to stop thinking such perverted thoughts about the Angel in the next room, but he decided against it. A cold shower would wake him up too much, and then it’d take him longer to fall asleep, which he definitely didn’t want.

_You’re going to have to learn to control your thoughts better, Al,_ he told himself as he stepped into the shower and let the hot water drench him.

It relaxed him completely, and he lazily picked up his bottle of shampoo and washed his hair, enjoying the woodsy scent. Then he poured a bit of body wash onto a damp rag and scrubbed himself all over, making sure not to miss a single square inch of his skin. Only once he was sure he’d sufficiently cleaned himself did he rinse the rag then move directly under the spray of water, letting it wash the shampoo from his hair and the soap suds from his body.

The air outside the shower was painfully cold when he stepped back out onto the thin rug that was the only thing separating him from the bathroom’s tile floor, but he didn’t let it slow him down. Hurrying now just to be able to sleep sooner, he pulled a towel from where it hung on the wall and dried off, rubbing as much of the water out of his hair as he could. Then he dressed, his comfortable cotton pajamas feeling like heaven, and when he left the bathroom he tossed his dirty clothes towards the corner that housed the washing machine and the clothes dryer, not bothering to put them in the hamper.

The couch in the living room was practically calling his name, seducing him down onto its comfortable cushions with promises of a long rest and lovely dreams about a certain green-eyed Angel.

_But that’s a no-no, couch,_ the American thought drowsily, stretching out on the inoffensive piece of furniture and pulling a thick blanket over himself. _I shouldn’t think about Artie that way…it’s wrong…he’s too good for thoughts like that…_

In less than a minute, sleep took a hold of Alfred’s mind and claimed him as its own, and he gladly welcomed it, knowing that when he woke, he’d get to spend another day with the Angel in the next room.

And that, he decided in the last moments before he abandoned the conscious world, was worth risking an eternity in hell.


	7. Chapter 7

A quiet sigh escaped slightly parted lips and emerald eyes opened, blinking as Arthur took in the world around him. Alfred’s bedroom slowly came into focus, replacing the hazy remnants of the meadow. Weak morning light filtered in through the window and the digital clock on the nightstand told him it was 9:17 in the morning.

_Al’s back..._

The thought brought a smile to the Angel’s lips. He hadn’t exactly been lonely without the tall American, since he’d been in his meadow for most of the night, but he liked that he wasn’t all alone in the apartment even though Alfred was probably going to be asleep for several more hours. Lying there, he wondered if Alfred had come in to check on him when he’d gotten back, or if he’d gone straight to sleep. He thought it was more likely that the human had at least peeked into the room to make sure Arthur was okay, especially after making it perfectly clear that he was worried something might happen while he was gone.

_Silly man,_ he thought fondly, smiling as he breathed in the blue-eyed human’s scent. _There’s no reason for him to worry about me._

With another sigh, he gently pushed himself up off the mattress into a sitting position, his legs neatly tucked under himself. Rolling his shoulders and flexing his wings experimentally, he stretched and tested his range of movement. His feathers rustled quietly as they moved and the appendages felt stiff, but that was to be expected. The burn didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had the day before, and he found he could flap his wings with only a small twinge of pain. When he flapped harder in an attempt to hover above the bed, however, he managed to get himself only a few inches into the air before the pain became nearly unbearable. His wings tensed as spasms made them jerk and he fell back onto the mattress, bouncing slightly. He breathed heavily through his nose and bit his lip to hold back a whimper, clutching at the blankets as his whole body shook. It wouldn’t do to wake Al and have the human fuss over him when he needed to be resting, so he kept as silent and still as he could until the pain subsided, then he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Damn…too soon…”

At least it wouldn’t be long before he’d be recovered enough to go home. Then he’d have his wand, and he’d be able to heal himself within mere seconds without even a scar as proof the injury had ever existed. Until then, however, he needed to remember to be careful, or he might slow down his recovery. Not that he minded the thought of spending more time with Alfred.

Moving slowly to avoid irritating the wound again, Arthur moved off the bed and changed back into the clothes he’d borrowed the day before since they were still clean, then crept out of the bedroom. As he’d expected, Alfred was asleep on the couch, his head propped on one armrest with his arm draped over his eyes and his mouth hanging open. His feet were propped on the other armrest because he was too tall for the couch, though not by much. As Arthur watched, the American shifted and turned onto his side, mumbling quietly, though the Angel didn’t manage to catch the words. Silent, the blond moved closer to the sleeping human and kneeled by the couch, leaning close to examine the details of Alfred’s face.

He didn’t look like a war vet, Arthur decided, though that was probably because he was still fairly young and in good health. Regardless, there was a hardened quality to that face that Arthur recognized as a mark of having gone through some terrible events, but the blond man appeared to have triumphed. At least, that’s what Arthur hoped. He disliked the idea of Alfred suffering permanent damage from war, and even though he hadn’t noticed any signs of old wounds, Al might be suffering from mental repercussions that weren’t as obvious as a physical one would be.

_Maybe…I could…_

Moving slowly, Arthur lifted a hand and was about to press two of his fingers to the sleeping human’s forehead when he stopped. No, he shouldn’t invade Alfred’s dreams without permission, even with the intent to help him. Angels were only supposed to use their telekinesis to help the humans they were assigned, and since Arthur hadn’t been assigned to Alfred, it would be a violation against his oaths as an Angel to do so now. Besides, he’d already invaded the man’s privacy once by looking into the trunk in the closet without permission, though that had provided good insight into Alfred’s past.

He wanted to, though. He wanted to look into this strange human’s mind, to see what he was dreaming about, perhaps talk to him. Maybe Alfred would be willing to discuss things in his dream that he wasn’t comfortable talking about while he was awake. That would be an even bigger invasion of privacy than looking into the trunk had been, and Arthur didn’t want to betray the trust of the man who had saved him and was currently taking care of him.

Slowly, he let his hand drop back to his side. No. He wouldn’t abuse Alfred’s trust that way. He was an Angel, after all—he should have enough patience to wait for Al to be ready to tell him in his own time.

That was it, then. He wasn’t going to link into Alfred’s mind. But maybe, instead, he could…

Hesitating, Arthur shuffled forwards until he was practically hugging the couch, his eyes glued to the peaceful expression on Alfred’s face. This was probably a bad idea, but no one was watching, and he couldn’t imagine why he would get in trouble for it, anyway. But what if he woke up? This was a terrible idea—he really shouldn’t.

No, no. He could. He wanted to. As long as he was careful, Alfred wasn’t going to wake up, he wasn’t going to get caught, nothing bad was going to happen. It was fine. Even if Alfred did wake up, it would be easy enough to explain. There was nothing wrong with it.

_You can do this, Arthur. He did it with no problem, and so can you._

With that reassuring thought in mind, the nervous Angel took a deep, steadying breath and leaned forward until his lips pressed against Alfred’s forehead. The human was pleasantly warm, and even better, he smelled exactly like his pillows and blankets, though that wasn’t surprising in the least. Arthur took another deep breath, smiling against the blond human’s forehead, and pulled away just as slowly as he’d leaned forward. He was proud of himself for managing to do that, to at least return the affectionate gesture Alfred had so absently bestowed upon him the day before. Maybe he wasn’t as callus as he’d always considered himself to be, though the fact that he’d only done it because the human was sleeping lessened his feeling of accomplishment slightly. Still, the fact that he’d been able to do it at all was almost surprising, even to him.

Like a magnet, Arthur’s gaze gravitated to the left and landed on Alfred’s lips, and he remembered Romulus’ comment about “real” kisses.

_Oh, come off it, Arthur. Don’t be so bloody stupid. You already decided that it didn’t matter what Romulus said, because you’re not going to kiss Alfred, and he’s not going to kiss you, and that’s the end of it. Now get off your arse before he wakes up and finds you less than four inches away from his face._

His eyes never moving away from the human’s lips, Arthur scooted back away from the couch and stood, letting out a sigh of relief to see that he hadn’t woken the American. Alfred looked so exhausted that Arthur would have hated to wake him unnecessarily, so he walked on his tiptoes as he went into the kitchen and stole another apple from the fridge for breakfast. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but eating was as good a distraction as any, and he needed a distraction if he wasn’t going to let his thoughts dwell on the kiss he’d just given Alfred, even though it wasn’t a “real” kiss.

The apartment, however, was seriously lacking in sources of entertainment. There was the TV, but Alfred was sleeping and the noise would probably wake him, so that was out of the question. Arthur hadn’t seen any books lying around that he could immerse himself in, either.

_Well,_ he thought to himself, taking a bite of the apple and chewing slowly, _I suppose I could go outside. As long as I don’t go far, I won’t get lost, and I don’t want to sit around inside doing nothing until Al wakes up._

It seemed like a good idea, but there was the problem of his wings—they were visible as lumps on his back under the T-shirt, and he didn’t want any passerby to notice them and become curious. Still munching on his apple, the Angel wandered back into the bedroom and over to the closet, surveying its contents once again. There were a few heavier tops with long sleeves and hoods and pockets on the front that looked like they’d hide his wings well enough, so he took a grey one with white lettering on the front and pulled it on over the borrowed T-shirt. It was big enough on him that his wings were completely unnoticeable, and Arthur smiled in satisfaction.

As quietly as he was able, he crossed the apartment to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped outside, moving carefully so that he wouldn’t wake Alfred. Chilly morning air caressed his face and exposed shins, but he didn’t mind. It felt nice, and the heavy top kept him plenty warm, but he wasn’t wearing any shoes, so he sat on the step and tapped his feet against the cement of the sidewalk, watching the neighborhood slowly come to life as the sun rose higher into the sky.

First, adults appeared, most wearing bath robes over their pajamas and old slippers as they collected their mail from the boxes along the street. Arthur watched them discretely, curious about them but not wanting to garner suspicion as to whom he was or why he was staring at complete strangers. Not long after, the same adults appeared, fully dressed and likely headed off to work as they either drove off in cars or walked away down the street. Children appeared at approximately the same time, and a large, orange-yellow bus that Arthur recognized as a school bus arrived at the corner. It sat waiting as all the children climbed into it, clutching backpacks and little paper bags of Arthur didn’t know what, and then the bus drove away with its new passengers safely seated inside.

After a while, more children appeared in the front yards, though these were younger than the ones who had gone to school. They called to each other, young voices happy as they all played some game that involved kicking a ball around with no clear system of points or rules, or at least, there were none that Arthur could decipher from the apparently random moves the children made. Still, it was nice to just sit and watch, something he didn’t do very often any more. He could, of course, watch the earth from heaven, and focus on any single person or insect or animal, or watch an entire country at once if he wanted to, but he hadn’t spent much time earth-gazing in the last few years. It depressed him, he discovered, to watch humans destroy each other and their planet with no apparent guilt or remorse. But watching children play, witnessing their innocence and simple joy, was something he’d missed, and he was glad he got to see it now, even on this dirty street in New York City.

X

_Alfred opened his eyes to the feeling of soft, warm lips on his skin, and was met with the sight of a pale throat gracefully melting into a shoulder that, sadly, was hidden beneath the fabric of a T-shirt._

_“Arthur,” he sighed, and the Angel quickly drew away, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. His green eyes were lowered in a guilty expression, so Alfred couldn’t see the color._

_Shifting, the American sat up on his elbow and reached out to touch the Angel’s cheek. “Let me see your eyes.”_

_Blond lashes fluttered and lifted to reveal emeralds, and Alfred leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the other man’s. He looked into those eyes as if everything else had ceased to exist. Arthur’s blush darkened but he didn’t look away; after a moment, he tilted his head slightly and shifted forward to press his lips against Alfred’s. His eyes fell closed as the taller man’s fingers lightly trailed along the edge of his jaw and down his neck, stroking the pale flesh so that Arthur sighed delicately and moved even closer._

_Moments later, as if remembering himself, the Angel broke the gentle kiss and put his hand over Alfred’s, holding it to his chest. He smiled sadly as realization darkened the human’s sapphire eyes._

_“I really like you, Alfred,” Arthur whispered, “truly, I do, but you’re human, and I’m not.”_

_Alfred wanted to say it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care, but he couldn’t, and the two stayed that way for what felt like an eternity._

_“I’m sorry.” There was so much regret in the Angel’s soft-spoken words that it made Alfred’s heart ache._

_“So am I.”_

The buzzing of his phone startled Alfred awake, and for once he was glad to have been disturbed. His dream had started off nice enough, but the ending was definitely less pleasant. It even unnerved him—the Arthur in his dream didn’t have a heartbeat.

Alfred’s phone gave a more insistent buzz and he picked it up off the coffee table, squinting at the screen because he wasn’t wearing his glasses. When he finally managed to discern and recognize the number, he frowned.

“Told him to leave me alone,” the sleepy blond grumbled, hitting the “ignore” button and setting his now-silent phone down again. Turning onto his back, he stretched and yawned, his neck and back stiff after sleeping on the couch for two nights in a row.

“Mm…time izzit…”

He picked up his phone again, squinting, and saw that it was almost two in the afternoon.

_Time to get up, then._

Alfred sat up and ran a hand through his dusty blond hair, making it look even more tousled than normal, then put on his glasses so that he could actually see. His apartment appeared to be empty, though he knew Arthur was around here somewhere and was probably bored out of his mind without anything to do while Alfred slept.

A loud growl sounded from his stomach, encouraging the American to get up and go into the kitchen, hunting for a snack—he settled on a single-serving-size bag of Cheetos and munched on them happily, licking the powdery cheese-like substance off his fingers every now and then.

“Arthur!” he called once the Cheetos were gone, crumpling the bag and tossing it into the trashcan. “Hey, Arthur, are you hungry? I’m going to start lunch.”

There was no reply, and the tall blond began to feel a hint of worry. Arthur couldn’t possibly be sleeping still. It was too late in the day, and besides, he’d have heard Al’s calls and woken up. But why wasn’t he responding?

Nervous and worried now, Al crept towards the cracked bedroom door and peeked inside. The room was empty. He checked the bathroom next, but the Angel was nowhere to be found.

_There’s only so many places for him to be, where could he go?_

Blue eyes closely examining everything around him, Alfred turned and surveyed his apartment, searching for some clue as to the Angel’s whereabouts. It was then that he noticed the front door wasn’t closed all the way, though he was sure he’d locked it when he’d gotten home that morning. With quick steps, he went to the door and all but yanked it open, looking out over the street.

“Arthur!”

“Oh, bloody hell! Are you trying to make me go deaf?” an irritated voice demanded, and Alfred dropped his gaze to see the petite Angel sitting on his front step dressed in over-sized jean shorts and an “I heart NYC” hoody that was so big Arthur looked like a child in it. His hair was windblown and he was rubbing at his ear as if it were hurting him.

“Sorry. I just didn’t know where you were. I was worried about you.” Alfred stepped out of the apartment and sat by the smaller man, forgetting for the moment that he was only wearing pajama pants.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t need to worry about me so much. I appreciate your concern, but it really is unnecessary. I can handle myself.”

Sheepish, Alfred lowered his gaze to the sidewalk. “I know. Sorry.”

They sat together in silence for a few moments, Arthur watching the other residents of the neighborhood go about their daily business while Alfred kept his eyes lowered in order to avoid upsetting the Angel further.

The silence only served to let Alfred’s mind wander, and he began thinking about his dream. He was glad it hadn’t been anything dirtier than a simple kiss, and the way the Arthur in his dream had seemed so sad about not being human still made his heart hurt, but that wasn’t what he focused on. Arthur’s lack of a heartbeat bothered him, even though it had only been a dream. It was probably just his subconscious reacting to the knowledge that the Angel was actually dead. That news had been a shock—how could someone who was dead feel pain, breathe, feel warm to the touch and need to eat?

_He’s an Angel, Al. Don’t question it. If he says he’s dead, then he’s dead._

Arthur nudged Alfred’s shoulder, drawing his attention back to the real world. “Just bloody ask.”

“What?” Surprised, Alfred looked at the Angel questioningly. He couldn’t know what Al had been thinking about, could he?

“I can feel your concern and curiosity as if they were my own. If you have a question, ask. We already agreed that I won’t lie to you if it’s something I’m allowed to tell you.”

A blush spread over Alfred’s cheeks—he was going to have to be more careful to control his emotions if he didn’t want Arthur to realize how much he liked him.

Liked. That was the biggest understatement Alfred had ever been a part of.

“I…I was just wondering, since you said last night that technically you’re dead, do you have a heartbeat?”

“That’s all? You’ve been sitting there looking like you’re pondering the meaning of the universe for almost five minutes, and that’s all you wanted to know?”

“Shut up,” Alfred muttered, sulking even though he considered himself too old for pouting. “It’s not exactly normal to have to ask someone if they have a pulse or not.”

“It’s not exactly normal to find an Angel in an alleyway and let him live with you while you nurse him back to health, either,” the smaller male pointed out, smiling slightly.

Alfred sighed—the Angel had a point. “True. So, do you have a heartbeat?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Unsure if that was an invitation or not, Alfred turned to face the petite Angel sitting beside him and hesitantly placed his hand on the man’s chest, in the exact place as in his dream. A few moments passed before the American smiled, and Arthur’s green eyes almost seemed to laugh as he watched the taller man’s reaction.

“Cool.”

Removing his hand, Alfred turned back to the street and watched the children play, content. Beside him, Arthur shifted closer to the human and leaned on his shoulder ever so slightly in a companionable sort of way; even that small amount of contact made them both smile. The sense of discomfort Al had been experiencing since he woke was gone—he could almost still feel the warmth of Arthur’s chest and the steady beat of a heart against his palm.


	8. Chapter 8

It was raining again. The drops of water pelted Alfred’s hood as he hurriedly did his rounds, boots splashing in the puddles that had formed along the fence. He would be completely soaked if it weren’t for the black slicker he wore, but he wasn’t complaining. Rain was better than snow, and that was exactly what he would be dealing with in a few weeks. At least then he would have the benefit of easily seeing an intruder’s tracks in the snow, but he still preferred rain.

Once he’d finished walking the fence and returned to the Security Office to check in with Antonio, Alfred hung up his wet slicker and went to the fridge to claim one of the many frozen meals stored there. He was leaning against the counter watching the little box slowly spin in the microwave when the other three guards came in, also wearing slickers and basically drenched.

“I fucking hate rain,” Lovino complained as he slipped out of his slicker and hung it next to Alfred’s. The only response to this statement was a raised eyebrow from Antonio. The tall Spaniard rose from his chair, something he didn’t do very often, and approached the moody Italian. Lovino glared up at him, his hands perched on his rather narrow hips. “What?”

Leaning close but not touching him, Antonio put his lips by Lovino’s ear. “I thought you liked the rain, Lovi. We have such fond memories of it…”

A dark blush spread over Lovino’s cheeks and he shifted as if he wanted to step back from the Spaniard but couldn’t bring himself to. “S-shut up, damn it! We’re not alone!”

“And if we were?” There was a suggestive lilt to the words that made Lovino’s eyes widen and he mumbled incoherently as a smile graced Antonio’s lips. Awkward to be witnessing the intimate exchange, Alfred, Ludwig, and Feliciano looked away from the two and Alfred began to urge the microwave to cook his meal faster so he could focus on eating rather than on the Spaniard and Italian.

Finally, Ludwig cleared his throat. “This isn’t the best time for that, Antonio.”

To the relief of everyone, the tall green-eyed man nodded and returned to his seat in front of the monitors, apparently unconcerned with how his display of affection had affected his coworkers. Lovino let out an audible sigh and his shoulders slumped slightly as if even being that close to Antonio required more self-control than he usually exercised; he crossed the room with shuffling steps and sat on the couch, curling up on a corner of it as if that would protect him from the partial seduction he’d just experienced.

Clearly confused about how he was supposed to react to his brother’s uncharacteristic silence, Feliciano looked up at Ludwig with his usual happy-sleepy expression. “Are we playing poker tonight, Ludwig? Ve…there’s not much else to do.”

The tall blond looked to where Lovino seemed to be trying to curl himself into an ever smaller ball, then to where Alfred was taking his food from the microwave and stirring it with a fork and then to Antonio intently watching the security cameras before turning his attention to the short Italian standing in front of him.

“Not tonight, Feli. Let’s watch a movie instead—you did bring your laptop.”

“Ve…okay!” Smiling, the short Italian drifted over to where he’d left his bag at the beginning of his shift and retrieved his laptop, almost dropping it in the process of taking it out of the bag. He settled on the couch, giving Lovino plenty of space, and opened the screen as he wiggled in obvious excitement. Ludwig, much more calmly, got the power cord from Feliciano’s bag and plugged it in so that the laptop wouldn’t die while they were watching the movie, then settled on the couch on the other side of Feli from Lovino.

Now seated at the table as he ate his microwaved noodles, Alfred observed the German and Italian in silence. They were a couple—as were Lovino and Antonio—so Al sometimes felt like he was the awkward fifth wheel hanging out with his couple friends. He tried not to act like it, or let it show that sometimes being around the four of them made him feel lonely.

_I’m not lonely,_ he reminded himself, slurping a noodle as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the movie-watchers. _I’ve got Arthur. They don’t know that, of course, but it’s true. Arthur probably doesn’t even realize how much of a difference he’s made in the last two days. Whoa, is that all it’s been? Two days? It seems like he’s been staying with me for ages. Eh, maybe it’s a good thing none of them realize how attached I am to him—no one needs to know that I secretly want to do the secretive Angel that is secretly living in my apartment with me. That would be awkward for anyone to hear about, especially the Angel himself._

Realizing suddenly that he’d ceased to eat his noodles and they were starting to get cold, Alfred quickly finished his half-ass attempt at a meal before throwing the empty container away and leaving his fork on the counter so that he’d remember to take it home and wash it then bring it back the next time he worked. Then, with nothing else to do, he leaned back in his usual chair and closed his eyes.

He might as well get as much sleep as he could so that he’d be able to wake up sooner and spend more of his day with Arthur.

X

A crash of thunder shook the window and Arthur sat bolt upright in Alfred’s bed, wide-eyed and panting as if he’d been running. The quiet pitter-patter that had lulled him to sleep was gone, replaced by the dull roar of rain and the howling of wind with the occasional rumbling thunder. The thunder was what woke him—the sound terrified him in a way that it never had before. Even just hearing the rain and wind was enough to make him shudder, and he pulled the blankets up to cover his bare chest as if that would shield him from his fear.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work, and the next flash of lightning illuminated the Angel as he huddled on the American’s bed and tried to block out the threatening sound of thunder. He managed to stay where he was until a third boom sent him rocketing out of bed and to the bedroom door then out into the living room. Green eyes wild, he glanced around the room for something to use for protection and eventually dived onto the couch, covering himself with the blanket Alfred had used the morning before. He snatched up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV, hitting the Volume Up button over and over again in an attempt to use the TV to block out the sound of the storm.

“Come on come on come on,” he muttered, glaring at the glowing screen as the little green numbers continued to go higher. It didn’t matter what was on. Anything was better than that bloody storm, and Arthur was prepared to crawl under the couch if that was what it took to block out the sound of the thunder.

When the volume hit 100 and stopped, he pulled the blanket over his head and clutched it close so that only his face was revealed, rocking slightly as he stared at the TV. Outside, the storm continued, but he couldn’t hear it as easily now that he had whatever was playing to help drown it out.

_Get a hold of yourself, Arthur. It’s just a sodding storm. You can handle this. You’ve flown in countless storms just like this, and worse. It’s just thunder—there’s nothing scary about thunder._

Almost as if it could hear his thoughts, another flash of lightning brightened the window, followed a few moments later by the roll of thunder, and Arthur shuddered despite his mental pep talk.

_Okay, so it’s scary. Thunder is scary, I admit it. I’m bloody terrified of it. I shouldn’t be and I wasn’t until a few days ago but it’s scary now and I accept that. Now I just need to decide what to do about it._

A boom echoed through the apartment, and Arthur thought it was thunder until it was quickly followed by another, then shouting.

“It’s two in the morning, you fucker! Turn your shit the fuck down!” the muffled words came through the wall—apparently, Arthur had upset Alfred’s neighbors by turning the TV up so loud.

“Bugger off ya bloody wankering git!” he screamed, not bothering to turn to face the wall the words had come through, his terror working to loosen his self control from its moorings. Usually, he wouldn’t be nearly so abrasive while dealing with strangers, but the man on the other side of the wall obviously didn’t realize that Arthur would rather die than sit there in silence except for the storm.

“I’m gonna call the police if you don’t turn it down!” the same voice shouted, and Arthur recognized the threat in the stranger’s tone—obviously, calling the police was a bad thing.

Still, the next flash and boom made him squeak, and his fingers trembled slightly has he grudgingly turned the volume on the TV back down to a more acceptable level. This was not okay. Nothing about this was okay. He was alone in a mostly dark apartment at two in the morning during a thunderstorm and the neighbors were ready to call the police. He knew that was bad even though he hadn’t had to deal with the police in a long, long time. What if they came inside to look around? What if they found out that Arthur wasn’t supposed to be there, and Alfred got in trouble? Or worse, they might discover his wings if the blanket slipped, and Arthur didn’t want to think what might happen then.

He imagined being arrested, being dragged outside into that storm—a boom made him cower away from the window—and shoved into the backseat of the police car. Huddling there in nothing but Alfred’s borrowed shorts, terrified of the storm and of wherever the policeman was taking him. He’d be passed around for others to look at, poked and prodded and tugged on until some shadowy agent arrived and took him away. No one would ever see him again after that, and he’d spend the rest of his life locked away in some basement until the humans tried to dissect him.

_I’d get out,_ he told himself confidently. _I’m too fast for humans to catch. Humans never manage to capture Angels. They’d only have me for a couple of days, until my back healed. Then I’d make my escape and go home._

A flicker of concern for Alfred crossed his thoughts. If he was taken prisoner and later escaped, the apartment would be the first place his pursuers would look. If Alfred was home, they might arrest him and take him in for questioning. Torture him for information even though the American knew next to nothing about Angels.

Arthur hated the idea of someone hurting Alfred. Even after only two days, he felt protective of the man and would rather take another lightning bolt than see him hurt.

_Just don’t do anything stupid, Arthur. None of that has to happen. Lay low so no one calls the police and everything will be fine._

Outside, the storm raged on, and Arthur flinched at every flash of lightning, every rumble of thunder. He curled into an ever-smaller ball on the couch, clutching at the blanket desperately, his eyes glued to the TV screen even though he had no idea what he was watching.

Suddenly, the screen went dark and even the glowing numbers on the microwave in the kitchen went out. Arthur whimpered even though he could still see fairly well.

“Oh, God…no, no, please don’t let the power be out,” he whispered, frightened beyond belief. “This is bloody unbelievable…this isn’t really happening. I’m not stuck on earth with a lightning burn on my back. I’m not in some tiny apartment staying with an American man with the most amazing—no! No. I’m not. I’m not afraid of the thunder. Or the lightning. Why should I be? It’s just a storm. I can fly faster than lightning without even trying. I’m definitely not scared of lightning. And I’m not afraid of the dark, either, so it wouldn’t matter if the power was out, anyway. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. Go to your meadow. It’s peaceful there. No lightning or thunder or storms or mysterious men in suits who want to take you away and cut you open to see how your wings work and—no! Stop that! Bloody hell, get a hold of yourself, you git!”

Green eyes shut tight, Arthur shook his head as if that would rid him of the images his imagination had conjured up.

“Please come home, Alfred,” he begged, refusing to look at the dark apartment and pulling the blanket up to cover his face. “I don’t want to be here all by myself. Please come back.”

X

“Whoa, the rain really picked up,” Alfred commented, standing in the doorway as he watched the storm taking place less than two feet away. It was raining even harder than it had a few days ago, and lightning flashed every few seconds rather than every few minutes. It was odd that there were so many big storms so late in the year—Alfred expected flurries and frost more than he expected rain. Walking in rain and snow was fine—he was used to both—but he definitely didn’t want to walk home in _that_.

Behind him, Ludwig and Feliciano were putting on their coats, and the Italian looked up at his tall friend. “Can we give Alfred a ride home, Ludwig? It’s raining really hard and no wants to walk in a storm like that one.”

The German nodded. “ _Ja,_ we can give him a ride. Alfred?”

“That’d be great, thanks,” he accepted, smiling at the tall blond and short brunet. “I’d be soaked within minutes if I tried to walk.”

“Ve~that wouldn’t be any fun at all!”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Ludwig made sure Feliciano’s jacket was properly buttoned before the three adults ran across the parking lot to where Ludwig’s car was parked and quickly got in, those few seconds leaving them partially drenched.

Feliciano chatted happily in the front seat as Ludwig drove, obviously not as tired as he looked, and Ludwig offered short, simple responses whenever one was required. They had an interesting relationship, Alfred thought. It worked, though. No matter what, the two were together, though occasionally Ludwig became exasperated by Feliciano’s lack of concentration and the Italian’s blatant dislike of anything even similar to labor.

They were amusing to watch, and Alfred was content to rest in the back seat and observe the odd couple’s interactions. Their relationship was strangely perfect—Ludwig’s serious, hardworking nature balancing Feliciano’s carefree and happy way of life in a pleasantly unexpected way. It was nice to see his friends so happy, but it made him remember things he’d rather forget, so he turned his attention to the storm outside.

It only took ten minutes for the car to reach the apartment, and Al prepared himself before he left the car, getting his key ready in his hand.

“Thanks for the ride, guys. I’ll see you later.”

“Good night, Alfred!” Feliciano replied, turning in his seat to smile and wave at the American.

Ludwig offered a simple nod. “Night.”

After flashing a brief smile, Al ducked out of the car and sprinted the short distance to his front door, reaching forward with his key so the door was unlocked by the time the rest of his body caught up to it, and he was inside his apartment within moments. He’d barely had time to shut the door behind him when a body slammed into him, shoving him back against the door as surprisingly strong, thin arms wrapped around his torso.

“Alfred!”

The tall American tensed for a moment, surprised, but the sound of his name and the obvious fear in the speaker’s voice quickly made him relax. Sighing quietly, he hugged the smaller man, careful of the Angel’s wings and burn. 

“Arthur…” He could feel Arthur trembling and instinctively held him closer, murmuring soothingly into the green-eyed Angel’s ear. “It’s all right, Arthur…I’m here…shhh….”

“A-Alfred…”

With ease, he scooped Arthur up into his arms and carried him to the couch, settling comfortably with the Angel positioned in his lap, face nuzzled into the American’s black shirt. It was nice, and for once Al didn’t have out-of-control sexual fantasies running through his mind just from being in the same room as the Angel. Instead, his thoughts were calm, and he was entirely focused on simply holding the smaller man, stroking his golden hair, feeling the warmth of his petite body resting against his own. It wasn’t until the rumble of thunder made Arthur whimper and cling to Alfred for protection that the taller man realized what was wrong.

“It’s all right, Arthur. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I won’t let anything hurt you,” he promised, running his fingers through the soft strands of the Angel’s hair, his arm draped around his narrow waist.

“I-I couldn’t sleep…the storm…my back…”

“I know, I know.” Hell, could this man be any more adorable? Here he was, trembling and practically naked, curled up in Alfred’s lap with his face buried in his chest and it was all Al could do to keep stroking his hair just so he wouldn’t kiss him.

Not an aggressive kiss, nothing deep or passionate or possessive or demanding. Something sweet, gentle, caring, nothing more than a gesture to reassure him that Al was there, that he cared and he wasn’t leaving again until he was sure that Arthur was okay. He wanted to convey that, but he couldn’t do it by kissing him. That was out of the question and always would be, so he settled for holding the Angel close and letting those emotions pour out of him in the hopes that Arthur would sense them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the trembling in Arthur’s body lessened and eventually stopped altogether. He relaxed against the hard form of Alfred’s torso, slipping his arms around the taller man’s ribcage and holding close to him. Normally, such a blatant display of affection would have embarrassed him, but right now he didn’t care. Right now, he was just glad he wasn’t alone in that dark apartment anymore, and he wasn’t about to let Alfred out of his sight.

To his surprise, he felt his eyelids grow heavy despite the storm still raging outside, and shifted to lie more comfortably against Alfred, content in the American’s arms.

“Alfred…thank you…” he mumbled, mostly asleep. The hand moving through his hair slowed slightly for a moment, but he hardly noticed.

“You’re welcome.”

The Angel smiled slightly and slipped into sleep, his cheek resting against Alfred’s chest. It was quiet except for the storm, and Alfred soon found himself on the verge of dozing. For a moment, he wondered if he should try to move Arthur into the bedroom without waking him, but the burn would make that just about impossible. Besides, there was no guarantee that Arthur wouldn’t wake up once he was left on his own again, so Alfred shifted until he was lying back against the armrest with his head propped on a pillow and Arthur more or less lying directly on top of him. A blanket, probably discarded by Arthur, was thrown over the back of the couch, so he pulled that down until it covered both of them.

Warm and comfortable and entirely happy to have Arthur trusting him so completely, Alfred closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He forgot that he was still dressed from work, that he hadn’t showered and that his clothes were damp from the rain. None of that mattered. Arthur was sleeping and safe, and Alfred was exhausted, so he let sleep take him without even a hint of a fight, confident that he wouldn’t have a compromising dream. There was no reason to—he was already completely satisfied with the conscious world.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur woke up first, groggy green eyes cracking open as the Angel groaned and shifted. Why was the bed so lumpy? It hadn’t been like that before. Still…it was surprisingly comfortable…and warm…and…breathing? What?

This wasn’t the bedroom. It was the living room.

Oh. Of course. The storm. He remembered, all too clearly, the terror that had driven him to huddle on the couch and yell gibberish at Alfred’s neighbors. Then the American had gotten home. Arthur remembered throwing himself off the couch and flying to the taller man despite the pain in his back, plastering himself to Alfred and crying like a child. It was embarrassing, but Alfred had made everything okay again, and he’d managed to calm down soon enough. Eventually, they’d both fallen asleep on the couch. Which meant Arthur was currently lying on top of a sleeping Alfred.

_Bugger…how am I supposed to get up without waking him? He probably needs a few more hours of sleep._

The Angel shifted again, lifting his head slightly in order to better assess his options, and realized for the first time that Alfred’s arms were wrapped securely around his waist. It didn’t look like he was going anywhere any time soon. Not that he minded. He was warm, and Alfred’s chest was broad and muscular enough that he could lay comfortably, his head tucked under the man’s chin. He could feel Alfred’s heartbeat, a steady _ba-bump_ that seemed too vibrate pleasantly through Arthur’s entire frame. Slow, deep breaths made the American’s chest rise and fall, his lungs powerful enough that each breath lifted the petite Angel as if he wasn’t even there.

_He’s so strong…_

Lightly, so he wouldn’t wake him, Arthur traced over Alfred’s collarbone, the plane of his chest and the curves of muscle and bone in his shoulder. He was perfect, even with that boring black uniform, and Arthur found his hand sliding up the smooth skin of Alfred’s neck, cupping his cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft, pliable lips as a warm breath ghosted against his skin. Alfred was so much darker than Arthur was; his skin was almost golden brown compared to the Angel’s pale coloring. It made his hand look even daintier than it really was.

Everything about the American made Arthur feel small and delicate, but he kind of liked it. It was sort of nice to not have to be strong all the time, to be able to relax and let someone else take care of things. Like now. He’d never let anyone hold him like this before, even during his human life, and if it had been anyone other than Alfred, he’d have been embarrassed and covered it up by pretending to be angry. But he didn’t have to pretend around Alfred. The human had accepted everything about him from the moment Arthur had first spoken to him, and he never wanted to lose the sense of comfort and trust he felt in Alfred’s presence. He didn’t want to go without it, ever.

_But I won’t have it anymore when I go home._

That was an unpleasant thought. As much as he wanted to go home, as much as he missed his own bed and house and friends, going back and never seeing Alfred again, never hearing him laugh—even though it was loud and maybe a little bit annoying—never seeing the happiness in those crazy blue eyes…he didn’t want that.

It had only been a few days. He’d known Alfred for three days, and already he was so attached to him, he was almost disgusted with himself. What was he, some love-struck high school girl with a crush on the senior because he had the classic blue-eyes-blond-hair-brilliant-smile-hot-body-combo-deal? No, no, definitely not. Arthur was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn’t a hormone-driven teenager. He was much too old for that sort of nonsense. He liked Alfred because the human was friendly and helpful and understanding. Arthur was more grateful that Alfred had found him than he could say. He could so easily have been found by some murdering lunatic rapist who would have kept him chained in a basement without treating his wound at all, fulfilling sick fantasies about Angels while Arthur was forced to endure it and gather his strength until he could break free and escape.

Thinking about what could have happened brought unpleasant images to the front of Arthur’s mind, and he buried his face in the fabric of Alfred’s shirt, breathing in the scent of the man to relax himself and move his mind onto more pleasant topics. That was another thing he was going to miss about the human when he returned home: his smell. He might manage to replicate it somehow, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be Alfred.

Sighing, Arthur rested his cheek on Alfred’s shoulder and closed his eyes, content to spend the next few hours sleeping rather than attempting to get up now and most likely ending up waking the American. He could hear the neighborhood just starting to come to life outside, so it must still be fairly early. In that case, he was definitely willing to let himself drift off again, and did so within the next ten minutes.

Hours passed as the two slept on the couch, Arthur nestled against Alfred’s chest, the American’s arms holding him firmly but gently in a protective way. Muffled noises leaked into the apartment, too quiet to disturb the pair, and all was calm as they breathed not quite in sync, but close. Arthur’s fingers were curled into the fabric of Alfred’s black security uniform as if he was afraid the American would leave him, something he needn’t have worried about even for a moment. The peace was shattered when the TV suddenly came to life, blaring the morning news at almost full volume.

Both men sat bolt upright, knocking their foreheads together painfully.

“Ouch! Ah, fuck,” the Angel muttered, putting his hands over his forehead as Alfred groaned and rubbed at his own sore spot.

The TV continued to pour out painfully loud broadcasts, momentarily forgotten by the two males. As soon as the pain dulled enough for him to think, Alfred leaned over and picked up the remote from the coffee table to hit the power button—the TV went black again. Blessed silence filled the apartment and he leaned back against the armrest, sighing in relief as his eyes fell shut. That was, by far, the most aggressive alarm clock he’d ever experienced.

He was about to doze off again when something shifted against a _very_ sensitive part of his body and his blue eyes flew open, his head snapping up.

_Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!_

It was like something straight out of his daydreams. The thing that had woken him was Arthur, which was fine because he wouldn’t mind if the Angel woke him a little early if he was lonely or bored. But this wasn’t that. Arthur clearly wasn’t bored, and the expression on his face definitely didn’t help the rest of it.

The Angel was sitting on him. No, not just sitting. The Angel was _straddling_ him, the fabric of the soft shorts he wore pushed up to his hips so that his creamy white thighs were showing, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Even worse, he wasn’t even wearing shorts because Alfred recognized the material as a pair of his boxers and damn but that was sexy. Arthur’s golden hair was sleep-tousled and his hands were braced against Alfred’s ribcage as he held himself up. This meant that he was leaning forward slightly, stomach arching so that his narrow frame seemed even more delicate than usual, and his chest was pushed out a little.

As the green-eyed man shyly met Alfred’s gaze, biting his lip in uncertainty, the American felt an almost irresistible urge to run his hands up those thighs, slowly, savoring every touch, letting his calloused hands glide over the Angel’s soft-as-silk skin. Yes, up his thighs to his hips, holding them gently because they were so small they easily fit into his hands, leaning up to kiss that chest, to run his tongue over the definitions of the muscles and bones so that Arthur gasped and shivered. Then taste the little pink nubs that were just as pale as the rest of him as his arms wrapped around the slender waist to pull Arthur closer, to hold him against Alfred’s chest while he continued his ministrations.

It would make the Angel tremble and wrap his arms around the American’s neck, and Al imagined his fingers teasing the sensitive skin at the bottom of his spine, fingertips sometimes dipping below the waistband of the shorts as he kissed the Angel’s collarbone then neck, up and down, along the underside of his jaw, behind his ear and sometimes licking that perfectly curved ear because it made the petite man gasp.

The pale skin would taste sweet, inviting him, and he’d gladly give in, exploring the graceful neck until he found that one spot that was more sensitive than the rest. That was where he’d bite, gently at first so as not to frighten the Angel, then a little harder, tugging and sucking at the skin until it turned red then darkened into a hickey, proof that Arthur was his and only his, no one else’s. Then kiss the mark and lick it, soothing away any pain the Angel may have felt, his hand finally slipping into the shorts to slide around the curve of that perfect bottom, cupping the soft flesh and bringing Arthur’s hips forward against his own because the Angel needed to know how badly Alfred wanted him, how badly he needed him. His green eyes would widen and maybe he’d be a little scared and nervous but Alfred would whisper promises that it would be okay and that he didn’t have to worry because he loved him, and he’d never do anything to hurt him, ever, and he’d kiss him to prove it, hands patiently working to rid the Angel of those shorts so Al could finally—

The tightness forming in Alfred’s pants interrupted the scenario his imagination was playing out for him and he tensed, terrified that Arthur would feel it, that he would be disgusted and never allow Alfred to touch him again, much less hold him like he had last night. Trying to act like nothing was wrong, he smiled a bit nervously and braced his hands on the couch, pushing himself back and up so that Arthur was sitting on his legs rather than his waist where there was a bulge that Alfred prayed the Angel wouldn’t notice. That was the last thing he wanted right now.

His attempt at escape appeared to be a success because Arthur relaxed and easily climbed off him, standing and fixing the material of the boxers so that they hid his thighs once more. The Angel stretched, his back to Alfred, his wings spreading and flexing so that the skin between them stretched a little but not enough to agitate the burn. It was a beautiful sight, one that Alfred couldn’t take his eyes off of, and it certainly didn’t help his…ah…condition.

Before the Angel even had a chance to turn around or speak, Alfred bolted off the couch and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

“Alfred?” Arthur’s tone was concerned, right on the other side of the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”

He was already shirtless, tearing at his clothes desperately and tossing them haphazardly to the floor. “Um, y-yeah! I just…I didn’t shower last night so I feel gross. I’ll be quick and then I’ll make us breakfast, okay?”

_Oh, God, hurry up…!_

“Okay. I’ll be on the front step if you want help cooking,” the Angel’s voice drifted through the door, practically caressing Alfred’s now-exposed skin as he hastily turned on the shower; he shivered.

“Got it!”

Arthur’s footsteps faded as he walked away from the bathroom door, and Alfred forced himself to relax for a moment. He sighed, standing naked by the shower as the water heated up, and looked down at himself with a mixture of disgust and frustration. Even at half mast, his extremely obvious and inappropriate erection begged for attention, and some small masochistic part of him wanted to turn the water as cold as it would go and force himself to calm down, but he didn’t. He let the water heat up then stepped into the spray, shutting the shower door quickly to avoid getting water all over the floor. It felt nice against his skin, and he wasted no time in soaking his hair and body.

Moving quickly, he picked up a bar of soap from one of the little built-in shower shelves and rubbed it onto his hands, lathering them until the extra bubbles ran down his arms, then dropped the bar carelessly. He leaned back, the shower wall cold against the heated flesh of his shoulders, and oh so gently began stroking himself with one hand, using the soapy bubbles as lubricant. A shudder worked its way down his spine and he bit his lip, wrapping his fingers around the rod between his legs as his feet slid a little farther apart. It felt amazing and horrible. Guilt at what he was doing ate at him until the pump of his fist washed it away in a blinding wave of pleasure. Just one pump, then back to the stroking, coaxing himself to full arousal and biting back the name he wanted to moan.

_Creamy thighs begging to be touched, to be squeezed and kissed and maybe bitten to leave little red marks to claim him, to make sure everyone knew who he belonged to._

“F-fuck…hah…”

His thumb rubbed over the tip, sending another shudder through him as his knees shook.

_Green eyes wide with surprise mixed with pleasure, darkened by lust. Those perfect pale lips that looked softer than anything that ever did or ever would exist, parting slightly as a moan escaped them, a moan that sounded like his name._

“Arthur…God…”

The pace of his hand increased, gripping tightly as his eyes closed and his jaw went slack, letting out the groans and moans as they came, not caring if he was heard over the sound of the shower. It didn’t matter. No one mattered but the Arthur in his head, the one that loved him and belonged to him and welcomed him into his body, calling his name. Pre-cum began mixing with the soap and he lifted his free hand, trembling, to his hair. That one bit of hair that always stuck up was caught between his fingers and pulled, making him buck against his own hand and call out, the sound not quite a word but more than just a yell.

_Back arched, chest heaving and dripping with sweat, pale and delicate like the rest of him. Alfred’s tongue gathering the salty taste over the sweet skin, licking, kissing and biting, sucking the sensitive nubs he found. His name coming in pants and moans with every thrust of his hips, filling his ears._

_“A-Alfred…!”_

“Arthur!” The shout burst from him, his head thrown back against the tile wall as pleasure crashed down on him and his world turned fiery white. He continued to pump, cum covering his hand and the opposite wall as his hips bucked of their own accord. The hand in his hair twisted and yanked on that overly sensitive bit, almost abusively. It was a painful, guilty pleasure, a dirty thing that darkened his already flushed face with shame at what he’d just done.

Slowly, the white faded, as did the imaginary Angel he’d been picturing. His arms went limp, falling to hang at his sides as his legs shook with the effort of keeping him on his feet. Panting, he let himself slide down the shower wall until he was sitting, the water still pouring down on him washing away the soap and sticky white substance that was the proof of what he’d just done.

_You’re sick. You just jacked off thinking about an injured Angel. There’s a special place in hell for you, Alfred. F. Jones._

Despite the hate-filled thoughts he directed at himself, a sense of satisfaction weighed in the American’s body as exhaustion began to creep up on him. His limbs felt heavy and useless and he wanted to fall asleep right there, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to shower and then go make breakfast, and he had to do it quickly because otherwise Arthur would start to worry, and he definitely didn’t want the Angel snooping around so soon after…that.

Alfred focused on slowing his breathing as the shaking in his legs and hands eventually stopped then carefully climbed to his feet, using the wall for support. As quickly as he could, he washed his hair and body, rinsing the shower of any sign of his sinful deed, and finally shut the water off. The air outside the shower was cold enough to wake him up a little more and he dried off before wrapping the towel around his waist and venturing out of the bathroom. He cast a nervous glance at the front door, noting that it was open so that Arthur would be able to hear him if he spoke before he went into the bedroom and shut the door.

It was difficult to resist the temptation just to collapse onto the bed and fall asleep. That was all he wanted right at that moment, but he refrained and dressed, choosing comfortable old jeans and a jacket to lounge around in for the rest of the day.

“Arthur,” he called, leaving the bedroom again with the damp towel over his shoulder, “what do you want for breakfast?”

“You wouldn’t by any chance know how to make scones, would you?” came the response, and Alfred paused.

Scones? “No, but if you do then we can make some.” The sound of footsteps coming back into the apartment reached him as he hung up the towel in the bathroom. Arthur greeted him with a smile when he joined the Angel in the kitchen.

“I’d love to make some scones,” the petite man admitted, almost shy. It was, to be completely honest, adorable.

Alfred smiled back and ruffled the Angel’s hair playfully, as if he hadn’t just climaxed with the man’s name on his lips. “Then let’s make scones.”

He never wanted to make scones again. Even though Arthur had worked with complete confidence while making the biscuit-like “treats,” and Alfred had at first thought they would turn out to be delicious because of the petite man’s enthusiasm, he now knew better. The scones were like rocks. Maybe they’d just left them in the oven too long, but Arthur didn’t seem to think so. The Angel ate them as if they were made of cloud rather than hard enough to crack teeth.

“Do you like them?” Arthur asked, smiling at Alfred across the table. Besides the scones, they’d made scrambled eggs and bacon with orange juice. The Angel had wanted tea, but Al hadn’t had a chance to run to the store and pick any up yet, so he’d settled for the juice. So far, Alfred had been avoiding the scones as discreetly as he could, occasionally nibbling at one between bites of his other food.

“Yeah, they’re just…different,” he lied, smiling in return. The scones were hard and chalky, making his tongue feel dry as he attempted to choke a bit of it down. At least he had orange juice to help get rid of the taste. Maybe he could get used to them. 

Somehow, he managed to swallow the last bite of his scone and warily eyed the ones piled on the plate next to the frying pan of eggs.

No, probably not. He had a very poor chance of ever getting used to eating those damn scones.

“Did you want another one?” The innocent expression on Arthur’s face was so genuine Alfred almost couldn’t believe it. Did he really like the scones as much as he seemed to?

“Um, no, I’m all right.” Alfred patted his flat belly to signal that he was full, even though he easily could have eaten another serving of eggs and a few more strips of bacon. He’d always had a large appetite, but if he told Arthur that and avoided eating the scones, the Angel might get upset, and he definitely didn’t want to hurt the injured man’s feelings.

Shrugging, Arthur took another scone, cut it in half, and spread butter over the halves before biting into one of them, his eyes closing in obvious delight. Alfred watched in disbelieving silence—the Angel had to have jaws of steel and a stomach like a tank to eat so many of those rocks in one sitting. Al had managed to eat one, while Arthur had eaten at least four by this point and clearly thought they were perfect. That was fine with Al. The Angel could have all the scones to himself if he liked them so much. Alfred had no intentions of forcing himself to eat another one unless he had no other options.

“So, Arthur, what would you like to do today?” the tall blond asked after a moment, leaning back in his chair comfortably.

The Angel shrugged. “What else is there to do but watch TV?”

“We could go for a walk or something, since it isn’t cold enough to snow yet and it isn’t supposed to rain tonight. There’s a park nearby that we could go to, if you want.”

Going outside, farther than the front step? Arthur smiled. “I’d really like that. Thank you.”

Unable to help himself, Alfred grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “Then we’ll go after we clean up. I don’t have to work tonight, so there’s no rush, either.”

Arthur perked up, his excitement making Alfred chuckle. “Really? That’s great. It’ll be nice not to be here by myself tonight.”

That comment made Al feel just a bit guilty for having left the Angel on his own, especially after how terrified he’d been from the storm. “I’m sorry about that, but we’ll hang out tonight, and after our walk I’ll check to see how your burn is healing.”

“Okay.”

They smiled at each other, sapphire eyes meeting emerald ones for a moment before Arthur went back to eating his scone. Al’s thoughts wandered to the park, trying to decide where exactly he would take Arthur during their walk. There was one spot in particular he thought the Angel would enjoy, and he began to feel a little bit impatient for Arthur to finish eating so they could go. However, he forced himself to be patient and wait. He’d told Arthur there was no rush, so he relaxed in his chair and waited, taking this quiet time just to enjoy the other man’s presence while it lasted.


	10. Chapter 10

There was only word that described how Alfred felt at this particular moment: pathetic. At least, that was how he felt. Not for any real reason, other than that he couldn’t seem to keep his mind out of the gutter for more than ten minutes at a time, despite his “adventure” in the shower that morning. By all logic he should have been fine after that—he should have been relaxed and calm and controlled and even a little tired for the rest of the day. But he wasn’t. And it was all Arthur’s fault.

_No, don’t blame him. It’s not like he purposefully turned me on then pretended not to. He’d never do anything liked that. This is my fault for being so damn perverted._

Really, he wasn’t even being that perverted. He wasn’t imagining pinning Arthur to that tree and kissing him until his knees gave out, or dragging him behind that bush and doing unspeakable things to him. In all actuality, he was behaving himself as the two men walked through the park, side by side. It was because he’d had to help Arthur bathe again, and then put medicine on the burn—without touching his wings this time—and after that help the Angel pick out clean clothes to wear for their walk. The combination of those things meant that he wasn’t as relaxed as he’d like to be. He’d spent way too much time around a more-or-less naked Angel that day.

Now dressed in too-big tennis shoes, baggy jeans, a _Hollywood Undead _t-shirt left over from Alfred’s high school days and a navy blue jacket, Arthur looked absolutely adorable. It was driving Alfred insane, and the Angel wasn’t even _doing_ anything. He was just walking along, enjoying the scenery, smiling at the birds and the squirrels that raced about in the trees. Occasionally he would hum for a few moments as he admired some late-blooming flowers or if a gust of wind ruffled his hair. In those moments, the short blond’s eyes would close and he’d lift his face towards the sky, his smile turning wistful as he let the wind wrap around his small frame. Alfred could practically see the wings rustling under the two layers of clothing, begging to spread wide and catch the wind to carry Arthur away. But, of course, they remained hidden beneath the shirt and jacket. The breeze would die down, and Arthur would open his eyes with a longing sigh that just about broke Alfred’s heart.__

“You, uh, miss your home, huh?” he asked quietly, glancing at the man beside him for what must have been the fiftieth time since they’d left his apartment and walked to the park.

“Well, of course. I miss my friends, and my home. I miss flying.” Another heart-wrenching sigh. “But my back will be healed enough for me to fly in a couple of days, and I’ll be able to go home.”

“Only a couple days? That’s…great. Yeah.” Did he sound as pitiful as he felt? Probably, and even if he didn’t, the Angel could probably sense how unhappy the thought of him leaving made Alfred, even though he didn’t show any sign that he did.

“Yes, and I’m looking forward to it, though I am going to miss you, Alfred.”

He was? “Really? But you’ve only known me for, like, four days.”

The Angel chuckled. “I’m immortal, remember? Time doesn’t mean very much to my kind. Besides, after all you’ve done for me, I won’t forget you so easily as to not miss you. These last few days have been surprisingly pleasant.” He looked up and smiled at Alfred. “I’m very glad to have met you, you know.”

The American grinned. “Just don’t get struck by lightning if you ever want an excuse to visit, okay?” he teased, and was delighted to see a light blush heat the Angel’s cheeks.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

In companionable quiet, the two continued along the path that wound through the trees, occasionally passing by someone else or stopping to watch the small animals that lived in the park. Arthur was clearly enjoying his time outside the apartment, and that was enough for Alfred to put up with the stupid images his perverted brain kept coming up with. It was easier to ignore them when the Angel was being so innocent, so over time they became rarer and rarer until, eventually, they stopped altogether, and Alfred was finally free to relax and enjoy the walk the way he’d meant to do in the first place.

Arthur tensed when something touched the small of his back, but he relaxed again when he realized it was only Alfred’s hand—the human was being especially careful not to touch the part of his back where his wings and burn were hidden.

“There it is.”

Following the blue-eyed gaze, the Angel saw what Alfred was talking about. Off to the side of the path, there was a small hill, higher than the rest of the park but still relatively small, with a single, huge old tree sitting on top of it. Beneath the tree was a park bench. There was no path leading up to it, as if it wasn’t a popular enough spot for the park to pay for a paved sidewalk, but Arthur thought it looked like a lovely place to sit and rest for a while.

“Is that where we’re going?” he asked, conscious of the fact that Alfred’s hand was still touching his back and that if he let it drop only a couple of inches he’d have a firm grasp of Arthur’s—

_No, stop right there!_

Moving forward so that he was no longer in contact with the taller man and thus would be able to think clearly, Arthur looked towards the tree-topped hill. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just wait ‘til you see the view,” Alfred replied, seeming not to notice the way his companion moved away from him. He led the Angel off the path and up the hill, straight towards the tree and its bench. They reached it after only a few minutes, and Alfred looked up at the tree fondly as Arthur moved to sit on the bench.

“You were right.”

Alfred turned. “What?”

Smiling, Arthur gestured out towards the rest of the park laid out below them and the cityscape beyond that, even though the hill they were on wasn’t very big. “The view is incredible.”

“I knew you’d like it,” the American responded, smiling as he sat beside the Angel and draped his arm along the back of the bench. Part of him wanted to wrap his arm around the petite man’s shoulders, but that probably wasn’t a good idea, so he resisted and settled for the back of the bench behind where the Angel was sitting.

“Alfred.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ill?”

Confused, Alfred looked at the man beside him to see worried green eyes looking back. “No, why?”

“You were acting odd this morning. I wondered if you weren’t feeling well, and that’s why you rushed into the bathroom the way you did, and why you were in there for so long.”

Shit.

“N-no, I’m not sick.”

“You sounded like you were in pain.”

_He heard me!? Come on, you…you gotta be…ugh. This can’t be happening. Seriously. Just…fuck everything. There’s no way he really doesn’t know what I was doing. Stay cool, Alfred. Act like nothing’s wrong. He doesn’t have to know I was thinking about him while I did it._

Alfred forced a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his head. “Pain? I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

“Then what would you say? I was really worried, but you said you were okay before so I didn’t want to bother you.”

This Angel was too polite for his own good. Or maybe he wasn’t polite enough. Was it rude to bring up that he’d heard the man he was living with masturbating, even if he didn’t know what he’d heard? Alfred vaguely remembered that he hadn’t cared about being overheard once he’d started to get close to his climax, but now that he was finding out that Arthur had actually heard him, he wished he’d forced himself to be quieter.

_I’ll have to bite my wrist or something next time. No, no. There won’t be a next time, Alfred. You’re not doing that again. Once was bad enough. Focus on earning your way out of hell into purgatory and then maybe into heaven. Though you don’t have much chance of making it to heaven if you keep imagining banging him._

“It’s…not really something I want to talk about,” the blue-eyed American mumbled, looking away awkwardly. He took his arm off the back of the bench and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. It was a more defensive posture than he really intended it to be, but he found he couldn’t meet the other man’s gaze while they were on this topic.

Arthur huffed, becoming annoyed. “I know something’s bothering you, Alfred. Why don’t you want to tell me what’s wrong? I _am_ an Angel, so don’t forget that it’s my job to help people.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“I bloody know something’s wrong! I can feel it, you miserable yank!”

Startled, Alfred sat up and stared at the Angel beside him. He wasn’t offended with having been yelled at, or with being called a “miserable yank”—even when he was angry, Arthur’s accent was too cute to be offensive—but he definitely hadn’t expected such an outburst from the usually calm, cheerful man. Green eyes clouded, Arthur glared back at him with his arms crossed over his chest. His back was straight as a pole since he couldn’t lean back against the bench and he didn’t want to slouch, making him look stiff and determined. Alfred sighed.

“Really, Arthur, nothing’s wrong with me. I just…had a weird dream, and I really did need to shower.”

“So what were the noises?” the Angel demanded, not about to be appeased with such a generic answer. “I couldn’t tell what you were saying, but it really sounded like you were in pain.”

At least he hadn’t heard his name being shouted. “That…wasn’t from pain…”

“Then what was it?!”

“I was jerking off, okay?” Alfred burst out, standing and turning his back on Arthur as the Angel remained seated, stunned. “I woke up with morning wood and you were sitting on me like that and I didn’t want you to get freaked out so I took care of it while I showered! That’s what the noises were! Now can we _please_ talk about something else?” He stood there panting lightly as Arthur stared at his back.

“It’s okay, Alfred,” the Angel soothed after a few moments had passed, even though he felt warm under his collar from thinking about Alfred and those noises, especially now that he knew what it was. “I was human once. I understand. Please don’t be upset. I’m just glad you aren’t sick or hurt.”

Embarrassed, Alfred shook his head and stayed where he was, looking out over the park as if he could erase his admittance if he waited long enough before facing the object of his infatuation. Despite what Arthur said, he really didn’t feel like it was okay. It was shameful and embarrassing and he couldn’t believe he’d just shouted it like that for God and everyone to hear. To his surprise, he felt arms wrap around his waist and a body press against his back. Looking down, he recognized the pale, not-quite-dainty hands clasped in front of his stomach.

“Arthur?”

“I’m sorry for prying. It wasn’t my place.”

Alfred broke the Angel’s hold so that he could turn around and meet the guilty-looking green eyes. “It’s okay. You were just worried about me. I can’t be mad at you for that.” He couldn’t be mad at the Angel for anything. Arthur nodded and lowered his gaze, still upset with having forced Alfred to admit something the American was obviously uncomfortable with sharing.

Smiling now, he guided Arthur back to the bench and sat, this time putting his arm around the petite blond’s shoulders without so much as a second thought. To his surprise and pleasure, Arthur leaned against him and rested his head on his shoulder; both men watched the goings on of the park in silence, both relieved to have made up so quickly after their first real disagreement.

X

With an expansive yawn, Arthur snuggled farther into the blanket he was currently sharing with Alfred and let his eyes fall closed as the credits began to play. He’d spent the last several hours watching movies with the American and had rarely left the couch since they’d returned from their walk during the mid-afternoon. They had been fairly quiet after the outburst on the hill, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable or awkward sort of silence. They just didn’t really have anything to say to each other, except for when Arthur didn’t understand what was happening in a movie and Alfred had to explain it to him. It was a pleasant way to spend the second half of their day.

Now, however, it was dark outside and Arthur was ready to go to bed, but he didn’t have the motivation to get off the couch and go into the bedroom. Perhaps he would just share the couch with Alfred again, although he didn’t want to be the cause of another mad dash for the bathroom. Finally, after Alfred had gotten up and put the DVD they’d just finished away, the Angel managed to force himself to get up and shuffled into the bedroom to take off the borrowed jeans, shirt and jacket, and crawl into bed.

He was nuzzling into the pillow when Alfred came in and smiled at him, and he closed his eyes politely while the American changed into his pajamas. Unbeknownst to the tall blond, he peeked just enough to observe a tanned, muscular back and strong legs before a thin white t-shirt covered the torso and flannel pajama pants hid the legs.

_How does he have that much muscle? I haven’t seen him work out even once._

For the first time since he could remember, the Angel felt self-conscious about his own petite frame and pale skin, but he kept his thoughts to himself and yawned again.

Lips pressed to his temple, making Arthur smile as he began to fall asleep.

“Night, Artie,” came the whisper, and the Angel didn’t even pause before responding.

“Night, Alfie…”

Blue eyes widened, but Alfred didn’t say anything; Arthur was already fast asleep, so he snuck out of the bedroom and went to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

“He called me ‘Alfie,’” he told his reflection once he’d finished brushing his teeth. Normally, he hated that nickname and didn’t allow anyone to call him that. He was either “Alfred” or “Al” but never, ever “Alfie.” Only the way Arthur had sighed it, he couldn’t even begin to mind, especially after everything else that had happened that day.

Finished in the bathroom, Alfred clicked off the lights and headed for the couch, lying down and stretching out comfortably. He didn’t want to go to sleep yet, but he hadn’t gotten enough sleep that morning due to the TV deciding to come to life—Arthur had told him about the power going out during dinner—and then his daydream and shower. So he was tired even though he usually stayed up on his nights off just so he wouldn’t throw off his sleeping schedule.

_Maybe it’ll be okay this time. Maybe being in the same apartment as Arthur will help._

There wasn’t much hope, but he tried to be optimistic as he settled on the couch and closed his eyes. He just hoped he wouldn’t disturb the Angel in the next room over.

__  
_ _

Strange sounds pulled Arthur out of his dream-meadow and back into the conscious world, waking him. He’d been resting under his tree like usual, but the faint sounds had been distracting enough for him to wake up and look around the dark bedroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary, though the noises were louder now and seemed to be coming from the living room.

“Alfred?” Arthur called softly, nervous for some reason. It sounded like something was wrong, almost like Alfred was in a fight, and the Angel wasn’t sure if he should go out there to find out. His mind was made up for him, however, when he heard a terrified whimper and what sounded like begging.

“Alfred!”

Just like that, the Angel was out of bed and in the living room, his eyes easily adjusting to the low light so that he could see Alfred on the couch. Worried, he knelt by the couch and peered at the sleeping American’s face; every now and then, the tall blond would call out and thrash against his blanket, which he’d managed to wrap around himself. His eyes never opened but he mumbled and whimpered, frowning in his sleep. Arthur could see wet on the man’s cheeks and felt a pang in his chest to realize that he’d been crying.

_He’s having a nightmare or a night terror or whatever it’s called._

Determined to help, Arthur lifted his hands and placed his fingers on Alfred’s temples, closing his eyes and letting his mind link with the other man’s.

_Terror ripped through him, making him feel raw and exposed. It was dark, too dark to see, but he knew he was far away from home. Other men were around him, shouting to each other to be heard over the booms and explosions of gunfire._

_“Alfred!” Arthur yelled, scared out of his wits by what was happening. “Alfred, where are you?”_

_A hand grabbed his, pulling him down to his knees, and he looked into startling blue eyes just barely visible in the darkness. “Arthur? What are you doing here?”_

_“I-I came to help you, but…Alfred, what is this place?” Frightened green eyes searched the shadows for some clue as to where they were, but for once his Angel abilities didn’t allow him to see. He was just as blind as everyone else._

_“It…it’s my memory. Of war,” the dream-American admitted quietly, though Arthur somehow managed to hear him over the fighting going on around them. He was obviously just as afraid as Arthur was, so the dream-Angel tightened his grip on the hand clasping his own. It was his job to help with things like this, after all, so he wasn’t about to let Alfred suffer this nightmare for another moment._

_“I’m taking you out of here.”_

_“How?”_

_Arthur smiled, an out-of-place action considering the dream-war they were surrounded by. “Just trust me, and close your eyes.”_

_Doing as he was told, Alfred squeezed the dream-Angel’s hand for reassurance and tried to ignore the screams ringing in his ears. Suddenly, the noises of war stopped. It was quiet, and peaceful. A light breeze caressed his face._

_“Open your eyes.”_

_He did, and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “A-Arthur…how…?” Relief and disbelief washed over him and, if he hadn’t already been kneeling, he’d have fallen. He stared at his surroundings with wide eyes, taking in the rolling green hills and the familiar-looking tree with its wooden park bench._

_The dream-Angel smiled again and sat by his companion, still holding his hand. “This is one of my powers as an Angel. I can connect my mind to yours in your sleep, and interact with you in your dreams. We’re both asleep right now.”_

_“I’m still asleep? But, the nightmare…and this looks so real…” He ran his fingers through the grass as if testing its solidity._

_The shorter man chuckled and looked to where the sun was setting in the distance. “That’s because I based it off that spot in the park you showed me. I figured it would be a good place for you to calm down.”_

_Alfred looked towards the bench then faced the other man with earnest. “Thank you, Arthur. Really.”_

_“Of course, Alfred. What was I supposed to do, sit there and watch you suffer?” The dream-Angel shook his head, smiling gently. “You looked and sounded terrified, so I had to do something. Now, if it’s not too much to ask, could you explain to me what exactly you were dreaming about?”_

_The dream-man shifted uncomfortably, looking down as he fiddled with Arthur’s hand inside his own. “It’s one of the things I’ve had to deal with since coming back from deployment. If I sleep at night, I have this nightmare of being in a battle and, well, you were there. You saw it. But usually, the teammate I’m with gets injured, and I have to try to carry him to safety, only I have no idea where I’m going, so I never get there in time and he dies.” His voiced cracked as he spoke and he looked away, trying not to lose it. Arthur waited patiently as the dream-man took several deep, calming breaths._

_“After that, I get shot, and I wake up when I die in my dream, but first I lay there in pain and have to hope that someone will find me and help me. If I fall back asleep, it starts all over again. It’s terrible, and I hate it. It’s why I got a job as a night guard, so that I don’t have to sleep at night.”_

_Arthur spent several moments considering what he’d just been told then smiled. “If you want, Alfred, this can be your meadow.”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“It means that whenever you go to sleep, you can come here rather than experience whatever dream your subconscious comes up with. Like that nightmare. You could sleep at night with no problem and just come here instead of experiencing that battle over and over again.”_

_Hope made Alfred’s eyes seem even brighter than normal. “You can do that?”_

_The dream-Angel chuckled. “Of course. It’s one of my most important abilities. So, do you want this meadow?”_

_“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Overcome with gratitude and excitement, Alfred threw his arms around the dream-Angel beside him and buried his face in the golden blond hair as Arthur laughed and hugged him back._

_“Then it’s yours. I don’t want you to ever have to suffer that nightmare again, Alfred. Even I was afraid, and I knew it wasn’t real and that I wouldn’t get hurt.”_

_The arms around him tightened slightly. “I’m sorry I bothered you, but I’m glad you could help. Two years of that nightmare was more than enough.” He sighed quietly, holding the dream-Angel close. “Thank you, Arthur.”_

_Arthur rested his cheek against the other man’s chest and smiled. “You’re welcome, Alfred.”_


	11. Chapter 11

“Alfred.”

The blond didn’t move, his gaze fixed on something far away that no one else could see.

“Ve~Alfred, are you okay?”

Still no reaction.

“Hey, you American bastard, why are you ignoring us?”

A hand waving in front of Alfred’s face finally brought him back to reality and he blinked a few times.

“What?” he asked, surprised to see three of his four coworkers standing around him, looking at him in concern and, in Lovino’s case, irritation.

Feliciano spoke up first, his accent even more pronounced than usual. “Is everything all right, Alfred?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Ve have been trying to talk to you and you veren’t responding,” Ludwig explained, his forehead creased slightly.

Alfred blushed lightly and hoped his colleagues didn’t notice. He’d been thinking about Arthur and hadn’t even realized the other males were trying to talk to him. “Sorry. Guess I was spacing off.”

“Why is your face turning red?” Feliciano asked, face morphing into a cute, puzzled frown.

“You were having dirty thoughts!” Lovino accused, making Alfred flush darker, which only confirmed the Italian’s suspicions.

“N-no I wasn’t! I was just lost in thought!”

“What were you thinking about?” the taller blond questioned before Lovino could start an argument.

The American hesitated. He hadn’t said anything about Arthur to his coworkers and he hadn’t intended to, since the Angel would be leaving soon and he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for anyone to know about his temporary roommate. Now was probably a good opportunity to keep his mouth shut.

“Nothing,” he lied, “just spacing off, thinking about going home in a few hours.”

“I’m going to take a bubble bath!” the happier of the two Italian’s announced, smiling as his hair curl bounced. “Ludwig and I always do after work!”

All eyes turned to the German as his face turned red, though that was the only sign that he was uncomfortable with Feliciano’s revelation of their routines. Oblivious, the Italian looked up at him with his usual sleepy-eyed smile, and Ludwig sighed.

“ _Ja, ja,_ ” he muttered, ruffling the short brunet’s hair while avoiding his curl.

Lovino grumbled something that included “potato bastard” as he went to stand by Antonio where the green-eyed man sat before the monitors as he always did. The Spaniard’s hand moved to the shorter male’s lower back and rubbed absently, threatening to drop into a more inappropriate location at any moment. Alfred hoped it wouldn’t but was strongly reminded of how he’d touched Arthur’s back the day before and wondered if it had seemed as suggestive to the Angel as Antonio’s gesture did to him. He really hoped not.

Suddenly, Antonio’s arm snaked around the slim waist and he pulled Lovino down onto his lap.

“W-what are you doing?!” the startled Italian yelled, struggling violently. “Let me go!”

Calm green eyes landed on Alfred, Feliciano and Ludwig. “It is time for you three to make your rounds, no?”

Another confused frown appeared on Feliciano’s face as he watched his surly brother continue to fight against the larger man’s hold. “Ve? No, it’s not.”

In a flash, Alfred was out of his chair at the table and grabbing his coat as he headed for the door. Ludwig snatched his and Feli’s coats from the rack and followed the American as the lovable Italian continued to frown, trailing behind them.

“But it’s not time for a patrol, is it, Ludwig?” he asked as the large German put his coat on him.

“Zip zhat all zhe vay up or you’ll catch a cold,” said German instructed, shrugging on his own coat and ignoring his petite partner’s question.

Perplexed, Feli did as he was told then put on the gloves that had been stashed in the coat’s pockets. Alfred and Ludwig exchanged knowing glances. The Italian may not have understood why they left so quickly, but he would forget the entire thing before long, so there was little to no point in trying to explain to him that his brother and Antonio were likely engaged in less-than-appropriate interactions back in the security office. Besides, Lovino would be murderously pissed if he found out that they’d told his baby brother about what he did with their Spanish coworker. It wasn’t worth the temperamental Italian’s wrath to explain it to Feliciano.

By the time they reached the doors to go outside and split up, Feli was indeed skipping along besides Ludwig, chatting about the cat he’d seen earlier that day as if the German hadn’t been there the entire time. It made Alfred laugh and he played along, waving as the other two went off in separate directions and he began his trek along the fence to make sure everything was secure.

_That was close. I need to pay more attention or they’re going to get really curious and they might trick me into saying something. Who knows what kind of trouble it could cause if someone found out about Arthur._

He took his time making his rounds just to be safe—he had absolutely no interest in walking back into the office before Antonio was finished with whatever plans he had for Lovino. That had happened once before, the first time he, Ludwig and Feliciano had been dismissed for an impromptu patrol, and he hadn’t known any better. In that particular instance, he’d walked into the security office and been half out of his coat before he’d looked up and realized that the only reason it was so quiet was because Antonio and Lovino had frozen out of shock of being walked in on. Luckily, Antonio was between him and Lovino so he’d been spared the sight of the partially undressed Italian and had also been shielded from the anger and embarrassment he was sure Lovino felt. If that had happened to Alfred, he would certainly have been upset. At the time, he’d immediately spun around and left again, his cheeks flaming. Thankfully, no one had ever brought it up.

When he was sure he’d waited long enough, Alfred finished his circuit of the fence and went back inside, stomping the small amount of slushy snow that had accumulated on his boots off just outside the door. He met up with Ludwig and Feliciano in the hall and together they went back into the security office, Ludwig peeking in discreetly to make sure it was safe before the tall German held the door open for his two companions. Antonio was seated before the monitors as he always was, smiling in a self-satisfied way that made it obvious that he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted while they were gone. On the other hand, Lovino was curled up on the couch with his face hidden, betraying his embarrassment over what had occurred regardless of the fact that no one had accidentally walked in on it this time.

Oblivious to his brother’s situation, Feliciano hung up his coat and flopped down on the couch by the other Italian, talking to him in a cheery tone. Ludwig simply shook his head, amused, and chose a seat at the table instead as Alfred did the same.

“So,” the taller of the two blonds began quietly, catching the American’s attention, “vhat vere you so focused on earlier?”

“Ah, nothing. Just spacing off,” Alfred lied again, uncomfortable under that piercing icy blue gaze.

_He knows I’m lying. He definitely knows._

To his surprise, Ludwig shrugged. “If you say so.”

Alfred hid his relief and decided that now was probably a good time to change the subject. “Wanna share a bag of popcorn?”

“Sure.”

Standing once again, the American fetched a bag of the suggested snack and put it in the microwave. He stood there as it slowly spun around on the thick glass plate and eventually began to pop, watching it so he could make a pained face without Ludwig seeing. When the popcorn was finished, he took it from the microwave and carefully opened it, poured it into a bowl and then placed it in the middle of the table so everyone would be able to get to it.

The security office was quiet except for Feliciano’s more or less constant chatter with occasional comments by the other males. Alfred did his best not to space off again and rouse suspicion amongst his coworkers, though it was difficult seeing as his mind tried to wander into dangerous territory the moment he relaxed his concentration. His only comfort was the knowledge that he’d be going home in a couple of hours and would be able to relax and go to sleep.

__  
_ _

Alfred was beginning to feel severely creeped out. It felt like someone was watching him, maybe even following him as he walked home at the end of his shift. Ludwig and Feliciano had offered to give him a ride, but it wasn’t snowing and it was still a warm enough time of year that he wouldn’t be too cold as long as he kept his hands in his pockets and zipped up his coat, so he’d declined. Now, he was really starting to wish he’d accepted.

_Calm down, Alfred. No one’s following you. Why would they? You’re not carrying anything of value, you’ve only got, like, four bucks in your wallet, and you’ve got a gun. There’s nothing for you to be worried about. Just stay cool and get home. No need to freak yourself out._

But he couldn’t help it. Maybe he was exaggerating, but he could practically _feel_ a pair of eyes drilling into his back, watching his every move, and his pace quickened into almost a slow jog as he wished more and more fervently that he’d let the German and Italian drive him home.

_Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, I’m going to get mugged. I’m going to get jumped by some crazy homeless guy and he’s gonna try to steal my wallet and I’m gonna have to pull my gun on him but I don’t wanna shoot a homeless guy! What if he doesn’t die right away and there’s no one to take him to a hospital so he just bleeds out in an alleyway or something and then I murdered someone over a few bucks!_

These panic-driven thoughts were stopped by the sight of the front door of his apartment and Alfred gratefully sped up, pulling his keys from his pocket so he’d be able to unlock the door on the move and slip inside before whatever was making him feel so damn exposed had a chance to follow him. Flawlessly, he slipped the key into the lock and twisted, simultaneously grabbing the door handle and turning it so the door swung open then stepped inside, swiftly shutting the door behind him and locking it.

He sighed in relief, the feeling of being watched fading now that he was safe in his dark apartment with Arthur sound asleep in the next room.

_See? Nothing to worry about,_ he said to himself as he began to cross the living room to go change into his pajamas. _Don’t know why you were so paranoid. Why would anyone bother following you any—_

Alfred froze, tensing as the sound of someone knocking on his front door reached him. Who the hell was knocking on his door at 5:30 in the morning? If it was whoever he’d felt watching him and potentially following him, then he really didn’t want to open the door. In fact, he’d rather use his couch to barricade it and pile the kitchen table and chairs in front of the window just to be safe. But rather than do that and probably end up making a lot of noise which would then disturb Arthur, he peeked out past the curtain over the window and saw a figure standing on the front step.

Tall with broad shoulders and silvery hair. Even though Alfred couldn’t see the person’s face, he knew who it was. The sinking feeling in his stomach knew it, too.

_Damn it, what’s_ he _doing here?! How’d he even find my house?!_

He had to have been the one who was following Al home from work, which sent a shiver of fear down his spine. How had he even figured out where Al worked in order to follow him home?

“Alfred? Alfred, I know you are in there. Let me in, _мой любовник._ I just want to talk to you.”

The American put his mouth near the crack between the door and its frame. “Go away, Ivan,” he called, loud enough that he hoped the man standing outside would hear him but too quietly to wake Arthur. Had Ivan really just called him “my lover”? He may not have anything more than basic survival skills in the Russian language, but he’d known Ivan long enough to pick up on a few things, and he definitely recognized the old endearment.

“Open the door, _да?_ I miss you, Alfred. Please.”

_Maybe…maybe he’s better now. He doesn’t sound drunk, although that doesn’t really mean anything. He never sounded drunk until right before he passed out. But he misses me? Even after all this time? Maybe he’s finally changed…_

Hesitant, Alfred slowly unlocked the door and opened it to look up into the strangest but possibly the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. They were violet, just as odd as the silver hair, and it felt like they gazed straight into his soul the moment he looked at them. A smile, sweet and innocent, made Ivan’s face appear to be as naïve as a child’s as he looked down at Alfred.

“ _Привет,_ Alfred,” the taller man said softly, and the moment he spoke Alfred could smell the alcohol on him. Vodka, like Ivan always drank, and he immediately regretted opening the door. Despite his hope, Ivan was drunk.

“What do you want, Ivan?” he asked tonelessly, looking away from those violet eyes so they wouldn’t distract him the way they always had before.

“To see you. You leave without saying goodbye, you do not tell me where you are going, you ignore my phone calls. Why?”

Alfred frowned, hating how hurt the Russian sounded, as if what he’d done was cruel. “What else was I supposed to do? You were changing, Ivan, and you didn’t even realize it. You’re drunk right now! How am I supposed to feel about you showing up drunk on my doorstep at 5:30 in the morning?”

“You could let me in, _да?_ ” Ivan wheedled, still smiling that innocent smile. He leaned forward like he meant to brush his lips against Alfred’s, but the American leaned back out of range.

Casting a nervous glance towards the bedroom door, Al took a step back and allowed Ivan into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “You can only stay for a few minutes, Ivan. Then you have to leave.”

“But I do not want to leave. I just found you. Of course, I would be happy to go if you come with me.” His large hand moved to stroke Alfred’s cheek and the American brushed it away, almost angry.

“No. It’s over between us and I’m not coming back. Do you even realize what you did to me? How much you hurt me?”

“Alfred…”

The blond shook his head, glaring at the floor. “Why the fuck are you here, Ivan? And don’t give me that ‘I miss you’ bullshit because if you cared enough to miss me then you would never have treated me the way you did.”

“I came to take Alfred home.”

“I am home. This is my home now, okay? And you’re not welcome here. Now, please, get out, go home, and leave me alone.”

“ _Нет._ ” Ivan was pouting now, his arms folding across his muscular chest in a way that made his biceps stand out intimidatingly. “Not without you.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Alfred hissed, afraid of raising his voice and waking the Angel in the next room. Subconsciously, he inched sideways to place himself between Ivan and the bedroom door in a move to protect Arthur even though Ivan didn’t know they weren’t alone in the apartment. “This is my apartment and I want you to get out, so go!”

“ _Нет,_ not without Alfred.” Suddenly, Ivan’s hand darted out and he grabbed Alfred’s wrist, dragging the American forward until their chests were pressed together.

“Let me go, Ivan!” the blond shouted, panic making him forget about his plan to keep quiet as he felt the Russian’s lips by his ear.

“You will come back with me and things will be like they were before, and you will never leave me again,” Ivan whispered, a trace of a threat in his words that made Alfred shiver.

“N-no…Ivan, let me go…”

A chuckle sounded and the grip on his wrist tightened; the smell of alcohol was overwhelming in such close proximity to the Russian.

“You will never leave me again.” With that, he began pulling Alfred towards the front door, apparently with every intention of forcing him all the way back to the apartment they’d shared before Alfred had moved out and rented this one.

“Ivan, stop it! Let go! I mean it! I’m not going with you!” Alfred struggled to pry the large fingers off his wrist, but it was no use. Ivan had always been and still was much stronger than him, so there was little he could do but yell and curse and yank against the iron grip.

“Alfred? What’s going on?”

Ivan’s hand froze on the door knob and Alfred looked back to see Arthur standing in the doorway to the bedroom, green eyes blurry with sleep and hair tousled, the cotton boxers he wore wrinkled. The look on Ivan’s face when he turned to face the petite Angel would have made a lesser man cringe and cower in fear, maybe even cry.

“Who is this?” he growled, squeezing Alfred’s wrist so tightly it was painful.

“E-everything’s okay, Arthur,” Alfred lied, trying to hide his discomfort and fear as he forced a weak smile. “Go back to bed. Ivan just dropped by to chat but now he’s leaving.”

“ _Нет,_ I came to get Alfred, but it seems someone else already has Alfred.” The Russian’s tone was quiet and deadly, promising pain to anyone who thought they had more of a claim to the American than he did.

Understanding bloomed in the green eyes and Arthur straightened, his expression turning into something that resembled a glare. “Let him go,” he ordered quietly, eyes never leaving Ivan’s face, “before I do something you’ll regret.”

The Russian laughed. “You, hurt me? You are too small, and look weak. You have lowered your standards, _да,_ Alfred?”

Arthur’s glare became more pronounced and, despite his disheveled and under-dressed appearance, he looked just as intimidating as Ivan did. “I said, let him go. Alfred told you to get out, so get out, and don’t come back. He doesn’t want to see you anymore.”

Pulling Alfred with him, Ivan took a step towards Arthur as if he meant to grab him, as well, and Arthur’s wings flared out in an oddly aggressive display, similar to a dog raising his hackles or a predatory bird puffing its feathers. Ivan stopped, dumbfounded by the sudden appearance of wings on this otherwise ordinary man, and his grip on Alfred loosened enough for the American to yank his wrist free and quickly move to stand beside Arthur. He put a protective arm around the Angel’s shoulders, both trying to let him know that everything was going to be okay and to let Ivan know that he was not, in fact, leaving with him. It was the wrong thing to do.

Violet eyes narrowing, Ivan rose to his full height and clenched his hands into fists. “This is why you will not come with me? This skinny little man? I could break him in half without trying!”

A harsh laugh burst from Arthur as he continued to glare at the angry Russian. “You, break me in half? I hardly think you capable of that. Now, I’m only going to say it one more time. Get out before I make you get out.”

Rage is normally an emotion that makes a person’s face turn red, their speech become fast and uneven and their hands tremble. Not so with Ivan. The anger seemed to drain from his face and his eyes dimmed as if he’d lost interest in the conversation, his hands hanging relaxed at his sides. But it was far from comforting. The Russian smiled slightly, a sadistic smile that chilled Alfred to the bone.

“I am not leaving without Alfred.”

Faster than the American could react, Ivan lunged forward, his hands outstretched to grab him once again.

“Alfred!”

He felt himself be shoved out of the way and nearly fell, but managed to regain his balance as the strangest scream he’d ever heard sounded from behind him. Turning, he saw the last thing he’d ever wanted to happen. Arthur had pushed him out of the way of Ivan’s lunge and had therefore been caught instead, but it wasn’t his arm or shoulders that were trapped in the Russian’s powerful grip. It was his wing.

Fear and pain radiated from the Angel’s very pores and his free wing fluttered feebly, though the rest of Arthur’s body remained perfectly still, like a rabbit that freezes in the hopes of going undetected by predators. The smile on Ivan’s face widened into a cruel grin.

“These are impressive. Very realistic. Was Alfred trying a game with his new lover?” he asked, his tone making Alfred feel sick to his stomach. “Does Alfred have a fetish for angel costumes?”

“Let him go, Ivan. He has nothing to do with this.”

“He is the reason you will not leave with me.” His grip tightened on the wing and Arthur whimpered pitifully. “He has everything to do with this. You will not leave with me? Then I will make him want to leave you.”

The next thing Alfred heard was a snapping sound followed by the most terrible scream he had ever heard in his life. It tore at him like a feral beast and he stared in horror as Arthur’s now broken wing fell from Ivan’s grasp and the petite Angel collapsed, still screaming as tears poured down his face. Ivan stared, stunned at the sight before him, at the blood staining the feathers where the edges of the bone had broken the skin.

“But…but it is a costume…how is he bleeding…?”

A clicking sound was barely audible over Arthur’s cries and the Russian looked up to find Alfred pointing a gun at him, already cocked and with his finger on the trigger.

“A-Alfred?”

“Get out.”

Never before in his life had Alfred been so angry, so enraged, so furious as to point a gun at someone without his own life being in danger first. He didn’t like guns and only carried one because it was part of his job, though he’d hoped he would never have to use it. But this was different. This was Arthur, _his Arthur_ , broken, bleeding and crying on his living room floor, all because of the man standing before him.

“Alfred, I did not mean to, you must believe me, I—”

“I said get out!” Alfred roared, shoving the barrel of the gun under Ivan’s chin so that the Russian paled even more than usual. With his free hand, Al shoved him back towards the door and kept pointing the gun at him until the man was outside and standing in the street, his hands raised in surrender. The American’s tone was like ice when he spoke. “Get out of here, Ivan, and I swear to God, if you ever come back or bother me or Arthur again, I’ll shoot you. I’ll shoot you somewhere that won’t kill you right away, but somewhere that means you’ll be dead in a few hours after the worst pain you’ll ever feel, and that’s a promise. Now go.”

Ivan looked like he wanted to say something else, but the expression on Alfred’s face made it clear that now was not the time, and he turned and ran off down the street. The moment he was gone, Alfred turned around and went to Arthur as fast as he could, carelessly dropping the gun as he did so.

Falling to his knees, he glanced at the broken wing then focused on the Angel’s face, panic rising in his chest to see that what little color Arthur’s cheeks usually had was gone, and his green eyes looked dull and lifeless. “Arthur? Arthur, can you hear me? It’s Alfred. It’s gonna be okay, Arthur.” He hesitated for a moment then carefully, so carefully, picked Arthur up and carried him into the kitchen. Even though he tried not to jostle the wing too much, Arthur cried out as he was being moved and again when he was set on the kitchen table, fresh tears following the tracks led by those that had come before.

“It’s okay, Arthur. I’m going to take care of you. Everything’s going to be okay,” Alfred attempted to soothe the twice-injured Angel as he retrieved his medical kit from above the fridge. Moving quickly, he washed his hands in the sink then disinfected the wing where the skin had broken, cleaning up as much of the blood as possible. Arthur whimpered at the sting of the antiseptic, his fingernails biting into the table as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shhh….you’re okay, Arthur. It’s all right. I’m gonna set the bone now, okay? It’s gonna hurt, Artie, but I promise it’ll be all right. You just gotta trust me.” Alfred took a deep breath then carefully gripped the wing on either side of the break, wrenching a painful groan from the Angel, and with a powerful yank and twist, forced the pieces of bone back together in their proper places.

Another scream ripped from Arthur’s throat and his entire body went rigid, and even though it absolutely destroyed him to hear the Angel in so much pain, Alfred didn’t pause before binding the wing tightly and using the neck of a broken umbrella he found in the closet as a makeshift splint. He worked as fast as he could, taping gauze over the broken skin after the splint was secure, all the while talking to Arthur in an attempt to keep him calm.

“All done, Arthur. You’re gonna be fine.” Alfred washed his hands again before stroking the Angel’s cheek tenderly, brushing the golden blond hair back from those emerald eyes. “The bone’s set and I put a splint on it, and the cuts are sterilized and protected. Your wing’s gonna heal up in no time.”

The Angel didn’t respond, though judging by the way he was panting and lying on the table, he was using every last ounce of his strength just to keep from passing out.

“God, Artie, I’m so sorry. I never should have let him in, and then you saved me from him and I let you get hurt like this…I’m so, so sorry…” he apologized quietly, kneeling by the table so he was at eye level with the petite man.

“It…it’s okay…Alfred…”

“No, no, it’s not okay. I’m supposed to be taking care of you while your back heals and I let my ex-boyfriend walk right in and then he broke your wing cause he thought we were a couple or something. But I’m going to take care of you. I promise. I won’t let anything else happen to you, Arthur.”

The Angel smiled weakly and reached for Alfred, his hand trembling and lingering tears still wet on his cheeks. “I…believe you…”

Without even a pause, Alfred took that pale, trembling hand into his own and kissed Arthur’s fingers, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He held it until Arthur gave a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes, either falling asleep or fainting, Alfred didn’t know, but he waited until the Angel’s breathing steadied and deepened before gently carrying him in into the bedroom and tucking him into bed. It felt oddly similar to that first morning when he’d found the Angel, but this time, rather than change and go sleep on the couch, Alfred traded his uniform for his pajamas then slipped into bed, lying close to Arthur and taking his hand once again.

“I know you can’t hear me, Arthur, but I love you,” he whispered. “Even though I haven’t known you for very long, and you’re an Angel and I’m human and we’ll never be together, I love you.”

He kissed Arthur’s hand again before closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep, content that his confession was the last thing he said before drifting off.


	12. Chapter 12

_“Romulus!” The cry echoed over the hills of his meadow, shill and desperate. “Romulus!”_

_Not strong enough to stand even now, Arthur kneeled in the tall grass with his face towards the sky and continued to call out the name of his friend and mentor, both out loud and with his mind, hoping desperately that the Angel was sleeping and would hear him._

_“Romulus, please! I want to come home! I can’t do this!” he shouted just before breaking down in sobs, every little movement sending a wave of pain that radiated from his broken wing. Even though Alfred had set the bone and put a splint on it, the pain was still there and as excruciating as ever. It was worse than the lightning strike by far—it was the worst pain he’d ever experienced in all his years of existence. “Please…don’t leave me here…”_

_“Arthur,” a quiet voice soothed, and he felt a hand on his shoulder._

_Lifting his face to see Romulus kneeling beside him, Arthur threw himself at the other dream-Angel, clutching at his robes and crying against the larger man’s chest._

_“Shhh…there, there,” Romulus murmured, casting his gaze over the makeshift splint on his friend’s wing. “What happened, Arthur?”_

_Clumsily, the blond dream-Angel picked up the brunet’s hand and pressed it to the side of his head, closing his eyes. Like before, Romulus instantly found himself seeing through Arthur’s eyes, starting with the moment the petite Angel had woken to the sounds of Alfred shouting in the living room. He didn’t bother turning on the lights as he wandered to the door and left the bedroom, freezing in confusion at the shock of seeing a large, strange man dragging Alfred out of the apartment. The moment Arthur realized what was happening, Romulus felt an icy rage strike him, and he was surprised at the violent impulses the blond Angel had held back during the confrontation with this strange Russian who was apparently called Ivan._

_Then it happened. Romulus had to hold back his own cries when he felt Ivan’s hands on Arthur’s wing, felt the grip slowly tightening and twisting slightly before that horrible wrench that sent bolts of pain through his body, so strong that he felt paralyzed by it. The memories after that were fuzzy, and Romulus understood perfectly. He himself had never broken a wing, but reliving Arthur’s experience was more than enough for him to understand, and he felt immense gratitude towards Alfred for being so quick and gentle in setting the wing and bandaging it. When the memory ended, he let his hand fall from Arthur’s head and cradled the blond to his chest, sighing_

_“Oh, Arthur…I am so sorry…”_

_He held the smaller dream-Angel until Arthur’s breathing calmed, then he tenderly wiped the tears from his friend’s face and let him sit in the grass, side-by-side. They were quiet for a while as Arthur tore out individual stalks of the grass, an uncharacteristic thing for him to do since normally he was so protective of every blade of grass and every leaf of his meadow. Tearing up the grass was exactly the opposite of his usual behavior._

_“I want to come home,” he said eventually, voice hoarse from all the crying he’d done. “I like Alfred and I’m grateful to him, and I don’t blame him at all for what that bastard did to me, but I don’t think I can stay on earth any longer than I have. First the lightning and now this…if I stay too long, I may end up damaged beyond repair.”_

_Romulus was quiet a moment longer as he considered the blond’s words. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to get you out. Even if you find a way to let the other Angels know where you are, it would take at least four to bring you back to heaven without further damaging your wing, and with no storms coming within the next several weeks, we won’t have the proper cover for so many Angels to be in one place at the same time. They’d be bound to be noticed, and that would draw unwanted attention to Alfred. Eventually, someone would discover the truth.”_

_Even though Arthur knew the older dream-Angel was right, he didn’t like to hear that he would be on earth for at least several more weeks. He’d only been there for four days and some lunatic had broken his wing because he thought Arthur was sleeping with Alfred! Though, considering that Arthur had been sleeping in the American’s bedroom and wearing his boxers, it wasn’t a completely baseless assumption. This train of thought made the dream-Angel consider something else._

_Ivan. The man who had broken his wing was, by all evidence, Alfred’s ex-boyfriend. It was hard to see Alfred with someone so volatile as Ivan—the man had reeked of alcohol and his indiscriminate aggression towards both Alfred and Arthur was contemptible. A man like that didn’t deserve someone as kind and amiable as Alfred. Or was Arthur simply displeased by the thought of the American being in a relationship with someone? No, no, that wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. Of course Alfred could date whoever he wanted. Obviously, he’d had feelings for Ivan at some point in the past and while the Russian’s attachment was still there, Alfred was no longer attracted to Ivan._

_A small part of Arthur celebrated a vicious sense of satisfaction at that realization, though he did his best to smother it with the reminder that he had no claim to Alfred and he shouldn’t let himself think that he did. Still, he was glad that the American had chosen to leave Ivan for what was almost definitely a better life._

_“I can feel your discontent, Arthur. Is it from something more than that you wish to return home?” Romulus asked quietly, glancing at the green-eyed dream-Angel beside him._

_“Oh, uh, yes,” the blond admitted, flushing slightly—he’d completely forgotten that he was around someone who could sense his emotions since he was already accustomed to Alfred not being able to do so. “I was thinking about Alfred’s relationship with Ivan.”_

_With a knowing smile, Romulus leaned back on his hands and looked up at the clouds, watching them lazily. “What about it?”_

_“I’m surprised Alfred was ever with a man as violent as that Russian.”_

_“But you don’t really know that much about either of them,” the older dream-Angel reminded him. “Who is to say that Ivan was the way he is when they began their relationship? What makes you think Alfred didn’t try to help him before leaving him?”_

_Suspicious now that perhaps Romulus knew more than he was letting on, Arthur glanced at his companion before sighing, the movement of his ribs making his wing ache sharply before the pain faded back into a dull throb. “I suppose you’re right. As usual.”_

_Romulus chuckled. “When you’re around as long as I have been, you start to see things a little differently. Now, rest, my friend. You’ve gone through a terrible ordeal today. When you wake, give my thanks to Alfred for taking such good care of you.” He waited for Arthur to nod then vanished, leaving the green-eyed dream-Angel alone in his meadow with only his thoughts and the sounds of birds and the wind for company._

_“I’m not jealous,” Arthur whispered to himself after he’d been sitting there thinking for quite a while. “There’s no reason for me to be jealous.”_

_Despite his claim, the dream-Angel couldn’t help but think of the Russian’s physical appearance and envy the man’s stature; his height and strength were two things Arthur definitely lacked, and he had such strange eyes. Little wonder Alfred had been attracted to him, regardless of his drinking habits and other personality quirks._

_“I’m strong, though. I’m an Angel. I could defeat Ivan in a fight.”_

_That didn’t make him feel any better about his lack of physical muscle—most of his strength came from his magic. If Alfred could have someone like Ivan, why would he ever be attracted to someone like Arthur?_

_“And there I go again, worrying what he thinks of me!” the dream-Angel burst out in frustration. “It doesn’t bloody matter if he finds me attractive! I’m an Angel! He’s human! It doesn’t matter!”_

_Disgusted with himself for being so pathetic, Arthur carefully turned and settled on his stomach, his cheek pillowed on his arms, and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering back to the American, then maybe he should stop thinking completely, and without wasting another moment, he let himself sink into unconsciousness for the second time since being struck by lightning._

X

Arthur was still asleep when Alfred woke during the early afternoon, and the American was pleasantly surprised to find the Angel snuggled comfortably against him. It made him want to lie in bed all day and not think of anything but the man by his side, but he couldn’t do that. His stomach was demanding food, and he desperately needed to go to the store. Besides, he had work that night and would eventually need to shower.

With a regretful sigh, he carefully shifted away from the still-sleeping blond and got out of bed, stretching extensively once he was free of the blankets. He had to admit, despite the chaos of that morning, he’d slept exceptionally well. The credit for that went straight to Arthur, and Alfred found himself smiling as he left the bedroom and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He showered as well then dressed as quietly as he could once he’d returned to the bedroom in order not to disturb Arthur. The last thing the Angel needed was to have his rest interrupted by a clumsy American making too much noise, and Alfred had no intentions of bothering him.

Clean and dressed, he ventured into the kitchen for a bite of breakfast then grabbed a small notepad and a pen from the drawer by the fridge.

_Dear Arthur,_ he began, smiling slightly at the sentiment.

_Sorry to leave you on your own, but I had to run to the store to grab a few things. I shouldn’t be gone for more than an hour or two, so if you wake before I get back, don’t worry. We’ll have lunch whenever you’re feeling up to eating so try and decide what you want. If you really don’t want to be alone tonight, I’ll call in sick to work and stay with you. See you in a bit!_

_-Alfred F. Jones_

Leaving the note on the nightstand where the Angel would easily find it if he woke before Alfred got back, he put on his shoes, grabbed his favorite bomber jacket, keys, wallet, and phone, and left the apartment. He made sure the door was locked then started off down the street, walking quickly so the trip wouldn’t take as long. Even though he’d left the note, he didn’t like the thought of Arthur waking up alone and hurt in the dark apartment, so he moved as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself as he walked the few blocks to the local shopping market.

First things first, he needed to buy more bandages and disinfectant if he was going to properly care for Arthur’s broken wing, so he headed straight to the back of the store where the pharmacy and medical supplies were. Ignoring the strange and curious looks he was getting, the American filled his cart part of the way with several large boxes of gauze and medical tape and several more boxes of various healing salves and disinfectants—he didn’t know for sure what would work the best, so his logic was to buy several kinds and try them all until he found the best combination.

Once he was satisfied that he had plenty of supplies to care for his injured friend, he moved on to the food section of the store and gathered groceries such as fruits and vegetables, some uncooked noodles, a few cans of whatever and anything else he remembered he was running low on at home. He then made a special side trip to pick up tea. There was just one problem: he had no idea what type of tea Arthur liked or if he’d ever even had tea that came in boxes with individual tea bags that just had to be soaked in hot water for a few minutes. Did they use actual tea leaves in heaven? Would Arthur even like the brands the store had available? Alfred had absolutely no clue what tea to buy and no way of asking Arthur since one, the Angel was sleeping, and two, his apartment didn’t have a phone so he couldn’t contact the golden blond without going back and asking him in person.

_Well, fuck. Now what?_

Blue eyes half closed, Alfred surveyed the various brands, flavors and types of tea as if one would suddenly jump off the self into his hands as a sign that it was the brand/flavor/type he should buy. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, so Al fell back on the same technique he’d used for choosing medical supplies. He took one box of each and made his way to the front of the store to pay.

“Uh…sure got a lot of tea…and bandages…” the cashier commented awkwardly, glancing at Alfred as he rang up and bagged all the items.

Al shrugged and grinned. “Buddy of mine is visiting from England, and you know how the English love their tea.” That got a laugh from the cashier. “He’s pretty accident prone, so…” He gestured vaguely at the bandages and disinfectants, earning a knowing nod from the cashier, who finished bagging his things and brought up his total. It was a bit of a struggle carrying everything back to the apartment, since his multiples of tea and bandages and having to buy groceries for two people instead of one meant that he’d filled several bags when he usually only had to carry two or three. The walk back took significantly longer than the walk to the store had.

By the time he got back to the apartment, Alfred was more than ready to put the bags down and relax on the couch for a few minutes. First, though, he needed to get inside, and that’s when he realized that his key was in his jacket pocket and his arms were full of grocery bags.

_Oh…maybe if I just shift…no. Ummmm let’s try switching this bag over—no no no no no no! Damn, that was close! This is useless. I’m going to have to set at least two of these bags down or I’ll end up spilling all of it just trying to get my key out of my pocket, forget about actually unlocking and opening the door, and that’s more of a mess than I want to deal with._

Just as he was beginning to shuffle the bags in order to set them on the front step, he heard the lock click open and the door slowly swung inward to reveal a haggard-looking Arthur.

“I got your note,” the Angel said quietly, holding the door open so Alfred could carry his groceries inside and to the kitchen then shutting it again behind him.

Alfred glanced at the petite man in concern. “I was hoping to make it back before you woke up.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Cold. Wing hurts.”

“Oh.”

There was definitely something seriously wrong with Arthur, something more than just his wing and back hurting him. Alfred could feel it even without the advantage of being an Angel himself, and as he put away everything he’d just purchased, he tried to figure out what it could be. Maybe he was just shaken up from that morning. Yeah, that made sense. Alfred would be out of sorts, too, if someone grabbed him and broke one of his bones as if it was nothing, and Arthur had already commented on how extremely sensitive his wings were, so Alfred couldn’t even imagine how much pain the petite man must be in.

“Hey, Arthur, you want some tea?” he asked, hopeful that the prospect of tea might brighten his friend’s mood. But the Angel just shrugged and moved from where he’d been standing in the doorway to curl up on the couch, leaning against the armrest with his legs pulled up to his body and his arms wrapped around his knees. It hurt Alfred just to see the man so listless.

Sighing, he finished putting the groceries away then leaned back against the counter. “What do you want for lunch?”

Another shrug—Arthur was staring out the window, his face void of any emotion. It made Alfred want to tear his hair out, but he refrained and instead went to sit by the quiet Angel, letting out a sigh of relief when he finally relaxed on the couch. Wordlessly, Arthur shifted from his place against the armrest to lean against Alfred, fingers curling into the fabric of the American’s shirt as if to hold him in place. Al smiled slightly and looped his arm around the Angel’s waist to share as much of his body heat as he could, and for a while they sat there together.

“I want to go home.”

The words made Alfred’s heart stop. Or, at least, it felt like it did. Arthur wanted to leave him? Well, not him, personally. Just earth. And why shouldn’t he? He’d been attacked by Alfred’s drunken ex-boyfriend and was in constant pain as a result.

“Can the other Angels come and get you?” the taller man asked, trying his best to sound like he genuinely wanted them to be able to so that Arthur could go home like he wanted, when really all he wanted to do was beg the Angel to stay with him forever.

Arthur shook his head. “Can’t. No storms. Can’t find me.”

“I see.”

“Romulus says thanks.”

“What?”

Lifting his head, Arthur looked at Alfred with green eyes that weren’t as clear as usual. “Romulus is the head Angel. He said to say thank you for helping me.”

“You can talk to other Angels without being in heaven?”

The Angel nodded and placed his head back on Alfred’s shoulder. “In my dreams. Like your meadow.”

“Oh, well, next time you talk to him, tell him I said it was my pleasure.”

“’Kay.”

Mother of…this quieter Arthur was driving Alfred absolutely insane. He was like a shy child that was afraid to say too many words at once, and while the cuddling was cute and Al didn’t mind it one bit, he was still concerned. Where was the feisty Angel that had declared his superiority over humans even though the burn on his back meant he couldn’t fly? Where was the irritated swearing in that stupidly adorable accent and the eagerness to try out all these strange human things that he’d never had a chance to experience before?

“Arthur, are you okay?”

“Fine…”

_No, you’re not. You are the opposite of fine. Now tell me what’s wrong._

Alfred wanted to say it. He wanted to demand that Arthur tell him exactly what was wrong so that he could fix it, so he could make everything better and Arthur would smile and joke with him and sometimes get flustered and blush like he had before. That was the Arthur he wanted to spend his day with, the Arthur he’d admitted he loved just that morning.

_But he is that Arthur,_ he told himself as he rested his cheek on the top of the Angel’s golden blond head. _He’s that Arthur with a broken wing and no way of getting home. This isn’t going to be easy for him, Al. Just be here for him. Don’t push him. He’ll open up when he’s ready, so you just be ready to listen when that happens._

Yeah, he could do that. He could be the patient, supportive friend that Arthur needed right now. Hell, he’d done it before, hadn’t he? Plenty of times he’d had friends injured in battle who had seemed to shut down for a few days in the early part of their recovery and only returned to normal when they were close to being fully recovered. Losing his wing, even temporarily, had to be one of the worst things Arthur had ever gone through, and Alfred wasn’t about to be the insensitive jerk that tried to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. He wouldn’t do that to Arthur.

_You were the hero once, Alfred. It’s time to do it again._

But this time was a little different. This time, there were no enemies, no guns or bombs or mines. This time it was just him and Arthur, and he was going to get Arthur home even if that meant losing the Angel forever.


	13. Chapter 13

Enough was enough.

“Arthur.”

The Angel stirred slightly but didn’t otherwise respond, and Alfred’s frown deepened. It had been three days since Ivan had followed Al home from work and ended up breaking Arthur’s wing, and the Angel still wasn’t talking. In fact, each of the last three days had earned fewer and fewer words from the injured man. There were dark circles under his eyes that made Alfred think he wasn’t sleeping at night, and he was pretty sure the Angel hadn’t been bathing. He certainly wasn’t eating enough—Al could barely get him to eat more than a few bites per meal. Every night, he offered to call into work and tell them a personal emergency had come up and he didn’t know when he’d be able to come back to work, but each time, Arthur just shook his head and went back to staring out the window. And Alfred was getting fed up with it all.

Wasn’t it enough that he spent his time at work worrying that he was going to come back to an empty apartment? That he was terrified Arthur would simply wander out the front door and disappear while Alfred was in the shower or cooking or gone? He’d thought the Angel would at least take care of himself, but Arthur seemed to have lost his desire to live at all. It was as if he no longer cared about getting better and was content to waste away in his own misery until there was nothing left of him, but Alfred wasn’t about to let that happen. Not when he’d so recently admitted how he really felt.

Sighing, the tall blond pushed away from the doorframe he’d been leaning on and went to where Arthur was curled up on the couch in the same spot he always chose.

“Arthur,” the American said again, louder this time, and the Angel actually glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Arthur, look at me.”

It took a moment, but, slowly, Arthur turned his head and looked up at Alfred with dull, bloodshot green eyes. The Angel was even paler than usual and his cheek bones stuck out painfully. Without even pausing to consider his decision, Alfred scooped the smaller man into his arms and carried him towards the bathroom. Arthur didn’t struggle; he simply leaned against the American’s chest and allowed himself to be moved. There was a time when being picked up like this would have made him blush and stutter and curse and fight, but he didn’t do anything as he was taken into the bathroom and gently placed on the counter.

Turning, Alfred filled the bathtub with warm water then added soap, swishing it around with his hand so the bubbles floated around on the surface. Once the bathtub was filled to the right level, the American turned back to where Arthur was sitting listlessly on the counter, leaning back against the mirror with his eyes mostly closed. The sight made Alfred’s heart hurt, and he took the Angel’s face into his hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs.

“Arthur, please, talk to me. Tell me what I can do to help you get better. I hate seeing you like this. It’s killing me. Please.”

When the Angel didn’t respond, Alfred sighed and patiently began stripping the smaller man. Arthur didn’t even seem to care, and that scared Alfred. There was nothing sexual about what he was doing—he’d been too busy worrying about the Angel to fantasize about him, and he could hardly look at the man he was taking care of for fear that it would break him.

Alfred stripped off his own shirt so it wouldn’t get wet and carefully set Arthur in the bathtub, arranging the Angel’s limbs so he was comfortable. A sigh escaped him as he took the cup from by the sink and filled it with clean water.

“Tilt your head back.” Arthur silently did as he was told, and Alfred poured the water over the Angel’s hair, letting rivulets of water run over the pale face. He did this several times, until the lank blond hair and thin body were thoroughly wetted, then picked up his bottle of shampoo and began to lather it into Arthur’s hair.

“Mm…”

Surprise made Alfred’s blue eyes widen slightly. Had Arthur just made a noise without being spoken to first? Eager now, he continued washing the Angel’s hair, letting his fingers massage the scalp they found, and discovered that he was smiling. Arthur’s eyes had fallen closed, but he didn’t look as listless as before, just relaxed.

Finished with the Angel’s hair, Alfred rinsed his hands off then picked up a rag and his bar of soap, using both to wash the body before him. Arthur turned and shifted as he was told, even going so far as to lift his legs, one at a time, out of the water so the American could wash his feet. His back was saved for last, and Alfred delicately cleaned the burn, careful not to touch either of the wings.

“Arthur?”

The Angel looked up at him but didn’t say anything, his eyes looking a little livelier than before.

“How do I wash your wing?”

“…rinse…clean water…”

Nodding, the American picked up the cup again and filled it with fresh water as Arthur slowly spread out his unbroken wing. Without touching the sensitive appendage, Alfred poured cup after cup of clean water over the white feathers, watching in fascination as the water beaded and ran down the feathers, rinsing any dirt off of them as it did so. By the time he finished, the wing was practically glowing. It made Arthur’s broken wing look sadder by comparison.

“Arthur, I know it’s gonna hurt, but can you spread your other wing a little so I can clean it? I’ll put fresh bandages on it as soon as your bath is done, and I bought some painkillers on my way home this morning if you want to try taking a few.”

There was no verbal response, but the wing in question haltingly opened, and Alfred smiled.

“Thank you.” He was even more careful with this wing than the other one, though he made sure to rinse out all the dried blood he’d missed the first time he’d bandaged it. Once it was clean, the wing didn’t look to be in nearly as poor of condition as it had previous to the bath.

The quiet sound of water moving caught the American’s attention, and he peered over Arthur’s shoulder to see that the Angel had begun playing with a few of the larger bubbles floating on top of the water. It was such a simple thing for him to do, but the sight made Alfred smile wider than he had in days. Not wanting to disturb the Angel, he silently began to rinse the petite man off with more cupfuls of clean water.

Arthur patiently waited, playing with the bubbles, then lifted his arms to be helped out of the bathtub when he knew Alfred was finished rinsing him off. Out of the tub, he actually managed to stand on his own as he was toweled off, and caught site of himself in the mirror for the first time. His reflection horrified him, though he knew it wasn’t nearly as bad as it would have been if he’d looked previous to his bath. Still silent, he allowed Alfred to sit him down on the toilet and waited as the American took something from under the sink, which was soon revealed to be a bottle of scentless lotion. It seemed a little odd, until the blue-eyed man squirted a bit onto his palms and began rubbing it onto the Angel’s shoulders and down his arms. The feel of Alfred’s hands was pleasant enough that Arthur forgot about the lotion completely and closed his eyes, sighing softly.

No one had ever taken care of him like this, not for a very, very long time. Every pass of the American’s palms against his skin made him relax more, until he knew he must be like putty in Alfred’s hands, but he didn’t care. He let himself enjoy it and lost himself in the touches traveling down his arms and over his hands, back to his shoulders, over his chest and stomach and sides, his hips and thighs and down his legs as Alfred rubbed the lotion into just about every inch of his skin. Hands gripped his sides and turned him to expose his back, and then those strong, warm hands were rubbing on his neck and the uninjured portion of his back until all but his injury and towel-clad groin had been tended to.

“Alfred…”

Concerned blue eyes met his gaze and one of the American’s hands touched his cheek. “Yeah?”

“Thank you…”

A fond smile that made his heart flutter slightly. “No problem, Artie. I promised to take care of you, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Arthur nodded weakly, what little energy he had quickly leaving him, and slouched forward with a sigh. “Tired…”

“No kidding. You look like you haven’t slept at all the past few nights.”

“Haven’t.”

Well, that confirmed Alfred’s suspicions. “Why not?”

The Angel didn’t respond, and Alfred held back a sigh. He didn’t want to push Arthur too hard, especially when the petite man was even more delicate than usual. So he put the lotion away, drained the bathtub, threw the dirty clothes out the door towards the laundry pile, then once more picked the Angel up, cradling him to his chest protectively. Careful not to jostle the injured wing, he carried Arthur into the kitchen and set him on a chair before taking his accumulated medical supplies off the fridge and gently changing the bandages on the wing. Burn gel was applied to the almost-healed lightning-shaped scar that was all that was left of the Angel’s original wound, and Alfred had to admit that it was actually pretty cool looking. Who knew that being struck by lightning left a scar that looked like lighting? He kept his thoughts to himself as he worked and kissed the top of Arthur’s head when he was finished with the wounds.

“I’ll be right back.” The Angel nodded, and Alfred went into the bedroom to pick out clean clothes for his friend to wear. While there, he stripped the sheets and blankets from the bed, as well as the pillowcases, and added them to the growing laundry pile before helping Arthur dress. Leaving him there to rest, Alfred put his sheets and other bedding into the washing machine and started it so that he could have it dried and back on the bed before he had to leave for work.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, looking over in time to see Arthur shake his head no, but he heard the Angel’s stomach growl unhappily. “Liar. You’ll never get better if you don’t eat, Arthur.” Without waiting for a response, he made a bowl of chicken noodle soup and carried it into the living room to place on the coffee table, then he sat on the couch and held his arms open expectantly.

“Come here.”

His tone left no room for refusal, so Arthur slowly got up from his place at the table and went to the American, sitting in the larger man’s lap and curling into his usual ball. One of Alfred’s arms wrapped around the petite man’s waist to steady him while the other picked up the spoon that was sitting in the soup bowl. Then, one bite at a time and with lots of patient, insistent coaxing, he managed to feed every last drop of the soup to the Angel.

Full and tired, Arthur leaned against the taller man, his cheek resting on Alfred’s shoulder. “Mm…”

“Better?”

A nod was the only response the Angel managed as he yawned widely, and Alfred chuckled. Without dislodging the man on his lap, the American pulled a blanket over himself and Arthur then held the smaller man close just the way he’d done when the Angel had been afraid of the storm. “Go to sleep, Artie. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

That seemed to comfort the golden blond a great deal, because his green eyes closed, and moments later he was fast asleep, cuddled up against Alfred like a child. The small amount of progress he’d made in getting Arthur back to normal brought a satisfied smile to Alfred’s lips and he stroked the Angel’s hair comfortingly.

“I love you, Artie,” he whispered, so softly that the Angel might not have heard him even if he’d been awake, “and I’m not giving up on you.”

_Arthur didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he could do. He was stuck on earth until further notice. He couldn’t fly. His wing hurt constantly. He was hungry but had almost no desire to eat, and he’d become so unmotivated that he couldn’t even bathe himself. All he could manage to do was sit on the couch and stare out the window, watching the other people in the area go about their lives. Sometimes, he picked a person and spent the whole day pretending he was him or her, just so he wouldn’t have to think about his situation. Half the time, he was so busy imagining that he was someone else, he didn’t realize Alfred was trying to talk to him until the American had given up. He just…felt so useless._

_Even his meadow wasn’t enough to ease his mind anymore, and Arthur had traded it for a new dream, one that helped him escape how trapped he felt in his broken body. This new mental sanctuary was on top of a mountain, far away from civilization. The sky was a crystalline blue and he was above the cloud line, on a mountain peak that consisted of snow that never melted and gray rock. It was a barren, silent place, but Arthur found it oddly comforting. This was as close as he could get to the sky without being able to fly._

_Despite his lack of clothes, Arthur wasn’t cold as he sat on the mountain and looked out over the clouds and distant mountain peaks that were visible. The sun was high and it kept him plenty warm, and he was still vaguely aware of being held against Alfred’s chest, so the bigger man’s body heat warded off the chilly mountain air. If he hadn’t been so God-forsaken tired, he’d have stayed awake just to enjoy being held, but he was so tired, and having a full stomach after three days had meant it was just about impossible to remain awake, especially considering how comfortable and protected he always felt whenever Alfred decided to hold him the way Arthur knew his physical body was being held._

_“I should ask him to stay with me tonight,” he said out loud, his voice echoing through the thin air. “Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep.” It was true, he slept much better when Alfred was nearby than when the American was gone at work. He really did want to sleep, but he just couldn’t manage to. Being alone in the apartment made him feel abandoned and unwanted, which in turn made him feel guilty because he knew how much Alfred cared about him, and some tiny, spiteful part of him was angry at Alfred for letting that bastard Russian into the apartment._

_“It wasn’t his fault,” he reminded himself. “You’re the one that pushed him out of the way, and good thing, too, because it’s your bloody job to help people. If you’re going to blame anyone, Arthur Kirkland, blame Ivan. He’s the one that did this to you. He’s the one who made it nearly impossible for you to go home.”_

_But thinking about the Russian only made him wonder how he must compare to the much larger man in Alfred’s eyes. Alfred was so caring and kind to him, kissing his forehead every night when he left for work, calling him “Artie” and nursing him back to health so determinedly. Then there was Ivan, the man who was obviously very strong and aggressive, who Alfred had dated. He didn’t know how long the American and the Russian had dated for, but he felt like it must have been quite a while for Ivan to be so possessive of the tall blond._

_“He must think I’m weak compared to Ivan,” the Angel mumbled dejectedly. “Ivan was probably the dominant one in their relationship, he probably had a job and took care of himself. I can’t even take a bath on my own. What sort of waste of space am I?”_

_Arthur sighed and shifted on the rock he was sitting on as a breeze ruffled his hair. There was no point in comparing himself to Ivan, so why did he bother? Why should he want to be like that drunken git, anyway?_

_“Because he had Alfred.” The words were barely more than a whisper and almost vanished completely in the wind. “He had my Alfred.”_

_At least he could admit it to himself, now. He liked Alfred more than he should, and it wasn’t just because the American was being so kind to him. That was only part of it. The rest was hard to explain, almost impossible, actually. Arthur hadn’t been attracted to anyone in an extremely long time and he didn’t know how to go about it, so he figured it was best if he kept his feelings to himself. What could he do, anyway? Confess to the human that he was jealous at the thought of him having a lover? Admit that even though he wanted to go home, he loathed the idea of not being around him anymore and that conflict was only making it harder to deal with his broken wing? There was a good chance Alfred would be patient and understanding if Arthur ever did try to explain the way he felt, but he couldn’t do that. It would make it harder to leave if he confessed to the American only to leave him later._

_“I can’t do that. I can’t.”_

_The cold wind helped to soothe some of the pain in Arthur’s back and wing and he sighed, examining the small rocks near his bare feet. In addition to the sense of warmth he got from his physical body being held, he could also just barely sense the concern and affection Alfred was giving off. He almost wished the human wouldn’t be so open about how much he cared for the Angel. It only made it harder for Arthur to keep his feelings to himself. Even as cold and callus as Arthur considered himself to be, he wanted Alfred to know that he cared for him. He wanted the tall blue-eyed man to know how much he appreciated how much energy was devoted to him. But he didn’t know how to do that without completely baring his soul and revealing everything there was to know about him and Angels, without admitting that he wanted to keep Alfred all to himself, forever._

_“I know he wouldn’t tell anyone else our secrets, but I can’t break my oaths. Even if he wanted to come back with me, I won’t ask him to give up his job and friends and life. It wouldn’t be fair to him and I won’t do it.”_

_No matter how much he wanted to._


	14. Chapter 14

For the second time that day, Alfred found himself sitting on the couch with Arthur in his lap, feeding the Angel one bite at a time. This time was more of a challenge, though, since he’d made hot dogs, macaroni and cheese and broccoli for dinner. The hot dogs and broccoli he cut up into little pieces and, in the case of the hot dog, dipped in ketchup before holding the fork where Arthur could reach it, while the cheesy noodles required a spoon. At least Arthur was more willing to eat this time and seemed stronger after his nap, much to Alfred’s pleasure. The time he spent doing this was worth it if it helped Arthur recover.

Not until all the food he’d put on the Angel’s plate was gone did Alfred put down the fork and rub Arthur’s lower back instead, holding him close. He had to leave for work soon, but he didn’t want to. Not when Arthur was finally eating and had slept. That tiny amount of progress only made him more determined to stay by the green-eyed man’s side until he was recovered enough to take care of himself. He didn’t want to leave and risk losing that progress. Besides, it was nice just to relax on the couch with Arthur half-dozing in his lap. The steady rhythm of the petite man’s breathing was soothing and Alfred loathed the thought of disturbing him in order to get ready for work.

_Just offer to stay with him again. He’ll most likely say no, but you can at least offer. That way he’ll know you care even if he doesn’t know how much._

“Artie?” the American said quietly, stroking the Angel’s golden-blond hair.

“Hm?”

“I can call into work if you want me to, but otherwise I have to get ready to go.”

Arthur hesitated for a moment before curling his fingers into the fabric of Alfred’s shirt and nuzzling into his neck. “Stay.”

If he was honest with himself, Alfred had to admit that he wouldn’t have been able to refuse if he’d wanted to, and he definitely didn’t want to. He hadn’t thought it was possible for the Angel to get any cuter than he’d been before the Ivan Incident, but he’d just been proven wrong. It was very, very possible, because Alfred thought his heart might melt if Arthur snuggled any closer.

Smiling, he rested his cheek on the top of the Angel’s head and hugged him carefully. “I will. For as long as you want.”

_Forever,_ Arthur wanted to say. _Never leave me. Ever._ But he couldn’t say that. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to ask Alfred to give up his human existence, so he refrained. “Thank you,” was all he said. It was probably selfish of him to ask the tall man to miss work and therefore lose out on several hours’ worth of pay just so he wouldn’t feel so lonely when he went to sleep, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he had to spend another night alone. Not when he was so vulnerable and weak.

_Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m_ not _stronger than a human when I’m at my weakest. I certainly couldn’t fight a human right now. Stupid git._ The insult held no bite, even in his thoughts, and actually possessed a fond tone that probably would have made Alfred laugh if Arthur had said it out loud.

Lips pressed to his forehead and Arthur felt himself blush as he hid his face in the American’s shirt. Alfred had been doing things like that all day, constantly holding him or touching him in some way, humming, kissing his forehead or his hands. It was making Arthur feel…well, rather spoiled, and he couldn’t deny that he liked it.

“You gotta let me up so I can call in, Artie.”

Wordlessly, Arthur reached over and picked Alfred’s cell phone up off the coffee table, handing it to the blue-eyed man.

“Oh, thanks.” Alfred smiled and placed a second kiss on the Angel’s forehead before flipping the phone open and calling the number he had stored under “Antonio/Office.” It rang a few times before the familiar voice of the Spaniard picked up.

_“Hola, Alfred. What is it?”_

“Hey, Antonio. I can’t come into work tonight. A personal emergency came up and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to come in next.”

_“An emergency? What’s wrong? Did something happen, mi amigo?”_

“Yeah, a friend of mine got messed up in an accident and I’m taking care of him. He can’t really do anything on his own, so I don’t want to leave him alone,” Alfred explained, smiling down at Arthur as he spoke.

_“No problem, mi amigo. Tell your friend I said to get well soon, and that he is in very capable hands.”_

“Will do. Thanks, man. I’ll call in when I can come back to work.” He hung up before Antonio could say anything else and tossed his cell phone back onto the coffee table. “My friend Antonio says to get better and that you’re in good hands.”

“Antonio?”

“Yeah, one of the guys I work with. He’s in charge of the night shift, so he’ll make sure someone covers my area while I’m gone.”

Arthur nodded to show that he understood and cuddled up to the American once more, sighing quietly. He felt much better knowing that Alfred was going to be staying with him until further notice, and wanted to say something to let the taller man know it. He wasn’t sure what to say, though, so he settled for resting against him and lightly tracing the pattern on his shirt. It was an emblem of some sort with the name of what Arthur assumed was a band or movie in the middle. The lines were white on the black fabric of the shirt, spreading out over the expanse of Alfred’s chest.

As Arthur’s finger followed the thin lines, he paid close attention to the dips and curves of the chest underneath, secretly memorizing the shape of it. He wanted to ignore the shirt and trace the hard lines of Alfred’s torso, but that would certainly be inappropriate. Still, he couldn’t help but revel in the easy-to-feel muscles and bones under what he knew was sunkissed skin hidden by that t-shirt.

_He really is perfect,_ the Angel thought with a sigh, abandoning his tracing and instead laying his hand flat against the American’s broad chest where he could feel the strong beating of Alfred’s heart. _Even if I did ask him, and he agreed to come back with me, his friends would miss him too much. Like Antonio. It wouldn’t be fair to take him away from his friends. I’m an Angel. I can’t be that selfish._

But damn it, he wanted to. He wanted to tell Alfred that, if he was willing, he could give up his life as a human and come back to heaven with Arthur, live there forever, immortal but not quite an Angel himself. To do so only required one thing, but it was something Arthur was sure would scare Alfred off, especially considering what he knew of Ivan. Alfred would never want to pay the price, and Arthur knew he himself was too cold and shy to be able to go through with it.

_Stop thinking about it already, you wanker. You made up your mind already; there’s no point in thinking about it all the time._

“So,” Alfred began, interrupting the Angel’s train of thought, “since I’m not going to work, what do you want to do tonight? Watch TV?”

Arthur was quiet as he considered the question, his gaze drifting over the TV then towards the kitchen. There was something he’d always wanted to try…

“Can we…make popcorn?”

A smile tugged at Alfred’s lips. “Sure. I’ve got kettle corn, butter, and movie-theatre style.”

“And watch a movie?” The Angel’s tone took on a hopeful edge as he looked up into the American’s sky blue eyes, their faces almost close enough to kiss, though both men immediately shoved the thought away and mentally scolded themselves for thinking it. Alfred grinned to cover up his momentary lapse in self-control.

“Whatever movie you want.”

The last thing Arthur wanted was a great deal more childish than a movie with popcorn, but he was determined to do this. It was something he’d done in his own youth with friends and he knew children still did it in modern day, so there was a good chance Alfred would be willing to do it. “And…build…a fort?”

“A blanket fort? Really?” 

Alfred’s astonishment made Arthur feel bad for asking, and he looked away. “Never mind. Just a movie and popcorn.”

Amused, Alfred tipped the Angel’s chin up so he could look into his eyes, forcibly keeping his attention away from the slightly-pouty pale pink lips and resisting the urge to kiss those ridiculous eyebrows. “We can build a fort, Artie. It’s not a big deal. I was just surprised you wanted to.”

“Really?”

Smiling, Alfred kissed the tip of the Angel’s nose and was pleased to see a dark blush spread over Arthur’s face. It was so cute when the petite man was flustered, and he was glad Arthur was making such quick progress towards recovering. He was still amazed at how much more alive the golden blond seemed after a bath, a nap and some food, but he supposed it made sense. All those things were essential to maintaining health, so he was more than willing to help Arthur with whatever he needed to ensure the Angel was healthy and happy.

“Of course. You’re the guest of honor, you know, so pretty much whatever you want, goes.”

That brought a smile to the Angel’s face. It was a small one, and not very confident, but a smile nonetheless.

As if Arthur weighed nothing at all, Alfred stood and carried the Angel over to the table. “However, you’re hurt and I don’t want to risk you wearing yourself out for the sake of a fort, so you sit here and rest while I build it. Feel free to order me about—this thing’s gonna be built to your specifications.”

Arthur couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him. Him, giving Alfred orders? The idea seemed preposterous yet entertaining, and he was willing to give it a try. “Okay.”

Without further procrastination, Alfred set about gathering every blanket he had and piled them on the couch before, as directed by the Angel watching him, taking the chairs from the kitchen and lining them up with the couch and TV. He then draped the blankets over the chairs to form a tunnel, and used the curtain rod to form a tent-like structure over the couch. He also moved the coffee table into the tunnel and transitioned the TV onto it so they would be able to sit in the tent and watch it without the blankets hanging too low and getting in the way. The entire process took the better part of half an hour, and Alfred was more than ready to relax and watch a movie by the time Arthur decided that the fort was up to his standards.

Grinning, Alfred picked the Angel up once more and ducked under one of the blankets before settling on the couch. “So, what movie do you want to watch?”

Lips pursed in concentration, Arthur examined the stack of DVDs set out on the coffee table for him to choose from, examining the cover art and titles and occasionally reading the back of a case to see what the movie was supposed to be about. “What’s _The Avengers?_ ” he asked, and Alfred smiled to display the sort of perfect white teeth usually only seen in tooth paste commercials.

“It’s a movie about a bunch of super heroes who all work together to beat the bad guys, but if we’re gonna watch that, you gotta watch _Captain America, Iron Man_ and _Iron Man 2, Thor,_ and at least one of the _Hulk_ movies,” Alfred explained, which managed to catch the Angel’s interest.

“Do you have those?”

“Course, sweetheart.” Alfred winked playfully, and Arthur was glad it was dark enough in the fort that his blush wouldn’t be too noticeable. “What kind of popcorn do you want?”

“Kettle, please.” He busied himself with searching through the movies once more as Alfred went to make the popcorn, eventually locating the _Captain America_ movie that was apparently required in order to watch _The Avengers._

After having stayed with Alfred for over a week now, Arthur had learned how the TV and DVD player worked, so he set about putting the disc in the player and skipping the previews until he reached the main menu, at which point he settled on the couch as comfortably as he could. The sound of popcorn in the microwave reached him, along with a quiet humming that made him smile. He liked it when Alfred hummed and sang—the American had a surprisingly nice voice, which really only made it harder for Arthur to pretend he didn’t like the human as more than a friend.

_I’d better heal up and get out of here before I do something stupid, like kiss that gorgeous git, or worse._

Once again, Arthur found himself thinking of something he had no right to think about: what it would be like to kiss the tall American. To press close to him and cling to him and never let go, to stare into those amazingly blue eyes before tasting those stupidly-soft-looking lips. He’d probably taste like the coffee he liked to drink while he was getting ready for work if he hadn’t gotten enough sleep the morning before. And then Arthur would finally get to memorize the shape of his shoulders and chest and stomach, run his hands over every inch of the American until he knew that tanned body as well as his own, and he would gladly let the ash blond do the same to him. He would love the way it felt, love that Alfred would hold him so close that he felt like he was the center of the human’s universe.

_He would claim me and I wouldn’t even mind,_ he admitted to himself, absently watching the movie’s menu play over and over and over. _Then he’d come back to heaven with me, and I’d never have to worry about losing him ever again._

But what if Alfred didn’t want to go to heaven? It was unavoidable if Arthur’s daydreams came true. The American wouldn’t be allowed to remain on earth, and of course Arthur would feel obligated to fully inform the tall blond of the consequences if he ever lost so much of his self-control that he gave in and kissed the man.

_That isn’t going to happen. None of it. I’m not going to kiss him. I’m not going to tell him how I feel. I’m going to recover and go home, and that’ll be the end of it. He’ll move on with his life and do great things like I know he’s destined to, and I’ll go back to the life I had before._

As much as he’d wanted to go home only a few days ago, the prospect of going back to heaven and returning to his old job without Alfred to keep him company was almost…depressing. Nevertheless, he smiled as Alfred re-entered the tent with a bowl of kettle corn in his hands and made room for the American only to snuggle close to him once he was seated.

“So, _Captain America,_ first?” he asked, putting his arm around the Angel’s shoulders in a gesture of affection as he placed the bowl of popcorn in his lap where they would both easily be able to reach it.

Arthur nodded, taking a couple of the white pieces of popcorn and eating them—he smiled as the sweet flavor filled his mouth and savored it before taking another piece. A quiet sigh of contentment escaped him and Alfred chuckled.

“Don’t eat it all before the movie even starts,” the American teased, and Arthur looked up at him with wide green eyes.

_Fuck. Where the hell did he learn how to make puppy eyes?...damn it, that makes me want to kiss the hell out of him._

To avoid doing…that, he blew lightly on the Angel’s face and chuckled when Arthur frowned and shook his head slightly as if that would rid him of the feeling of the human’s breath caressing his skin.

“Whatever. Eat as much as you want. I’ll make more if we run out.”

Pleased with that response, Arthur settled comfortably under the American’s arm as the movie began. This was perfect. Alfred was perfect. It was all brilliant, and Arthur thought the only thing that could have made him happier at that moment was if his wing and back were healed so he didn’t have to worry about bumping them and causing himself pain or further injury, and at the moment, neither of those things seemed particularly important. All that mattered was that he was watching _Captain America_ and sharing a bowl of popcorn with Alfred while sitting in a blanket fort they had built, and he could have stayed like that for the rest of eternity.

Alfred had to leave the fort to refill the popcorn bowl three times during the movie, but he didn’t mind. That just meant that Arthur was finally eating without being prompted or spoon-fed, and that was good enough for Al. By the time the movie was over, Arthur was barely managing to keep his eyes open, so Alfred carried him out of the fort and into the bedroom.

Finally, he had the opportunity to tuck the Angel into bed, and even though Arthur wasn’t actually asleep, he still took it upon himself to strip the petite man down to his boxers—averting his eyes the entire time—and helped him lie down before pulling the blankets up to his waist. He was moving to leave the room when a hand grabbed onto his, and he turned around to see Arthur looking up at him sleepily.

“…stay,” the Angel whispered, almost pleading.

It was all Alfred could do to nod, change into his pajama pants, and lie on the other side of the bed. To his mild surprise, Arthur turned onto his side and snuggled into the American’s chest, arms curled up between them and head tucked under Al’s chin. Smiling slightly, the taller blond wrapped his arms around the Angel’s waist and held him close as the warm breaths against his collarbone slowed and steadied.

“Good night, Artie,” he said softly. “I love you.”

“Love you, too…”

Shocked, Alfred froze, blue eyes wide. He hadn’t been expecting a response—he’d thought the Angel was already asleep.

_Shit…if he remembers that in the morning…what’s he gonna think? I mean, we’re friends, and friends can love each other, but I definitely didn’t mean it as a friend, and it didn’t sound like I meant it as a friend. He’s gonna know. He’s gonna know I’m in love with him and then he won’t want to be around me anymore. He won’t want me to stay home from work or sit with him on the couch or hold him like this._

Alfred didn’t think he could handle that. He _knew_ he would crack if the Angel became too uncomfortable around him for simple things like lying together the way they were. But Arthur had said he loved Alfred, too. Did that mean…he wouldn’t mind? Would he be happy to know how Alfred felt?

Before the tall blond could begin to be hopeful, he remembered his dream about Arthur not having a heartbeat. The Angel had confessed that he liked Al a lot, but that it would never work because he was an Angel and Alfred was human. Alfred wished with all his might that their differences—no matter how big of a difference it was—didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. If Arthur really loved him back, then they should be able to be in love without worrying about Angels and humans or whatever else there was.

_This is all so stupid,_ he thought, closing his eyes as he breathed in the Angel’s scent, a combination of tea and the way a forest smells right after it rains. He’d never noticed Arthur’s smell before, probably because it was so subtle, but he decided he’d be able to go the rest of his life without smelling anything else.

_I love him. I love him more than anything else in the universe, and if the only reason I can’t be with him is because he’s got wings and I don’t, then I’ll do whatever it takes to earn my own pair. No matter what._

Determined to never lose the man sleeping beside him, Alfred took another deep breath of that relaxing scent. “I love you,” he whispered again, without receiving a response this time, and finally drifted off to sleep with the Angel held safely in his arms.


	15. Chapter 15

They were walking again. Not talking or looking at each other. Just walking. The snow that had fallen had melted already, leaving damp, brown grass behind. Most of the leaves had fallen, but those that remained were dull shades of orange and red, a sad remnant of the beautiful colors they’d been during the fall. Now the season was on the verge of winter and soon everything would be white and clean for a little while. But only a little while.

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d played in the snow. Probably during his human years. They didn’t have seasons in heaven, after all, and once he’d become an Angel, he’d been too busy to visit earth for something as silly as playing in the snow. Besides, that was something for children to do, not men his age, even though Romulus encouraged them to cultivate their frivolous desires because he believed they needed to behave like children at times if they were to help the children of the earth. It made sense, but Arthur rarely gave in to his child-like impulses. He would have felt ridiculous if he’d joined some of the other Angels in their games of hopscotch and blowing bubbles and singing little ditties that meant nothing but sounded happy.

Still, he wanted to play in the snow. Build a snowman or an igloo. Make snow Angels. Maybe have a snowball fight with Alfred. That was the thing, though. He wanted to play in the snow _with Alfred._ Not by himself. Not with other Angels. With Alfred.

_I’ll be gone before there’s enough snow for any of that. It’s been a week and my wing hardly hurts at all anymore unless I bump it too much. Another week or two and I’ll be able to fly, and then I’ll have to leave._

Perhaps he could visit. He knew he would want to, every time he was assigned a human in New York, he would want to stop by the apartment and visit the tall blond walking beside him, hear his voice, see him smile and watch the way those blue eyes lit up with excitement about even the littlest things. He would want to curl up on the couch and watch a movie, or if Alfred was gone at work, sneak into the bedroom and hide under the bedcovers to surprise him when he got home. Even if Alfred was too tired to stay awake, he wouldn’t mind. That would just mean he got to lie with him, maybe even be held in the man’s arms without worry of his back or wings.

Just thinking of what it would be like almost brought tears to Arthur’s eyes. Alfred would be so happy to see him, and Arthur knew he would hardly be able to force himself to leave when it was time to go. Each visit would last longer and the time he spent away would feel like an eternity. It would drag out over the years as Alfred grew older while Arthur stayed the same, until eventually the American was a wrinkled old man in a nursing home, patiently waiting for death while Arthur clung to him and tried to keep him from leaving.

“Arthur?”

“Y-yes?”

Arms wrapped around his shoulders and he felt himself being pulled against the taller man’s body.

“It’s all right, Arthur,” the American soothed.

Arthur hadn’t realized that he’d started crying as they walked, but Alfred had, and being comforted by the human only made him cry harder. He was going to miss these walks through the park, and the way Alfred always knew if something was wrong even if he didn’t know what.

It embarrassed the Angel to be caught crying, especially over something that hadn’t even happened yet. Alfred was still young and wouldn’t die for a long time. Still, the American’s hug was comforting, so Arthur didn’t pull away or insist that he was fine. He let Alfred hold him, winding his arms around the taller man’s waist. 

_I love you._

Fuck. His jaw was aching, he wanted to say it so badly. He took a deep breath in through his nose instead, relaxing at Alfred’s scent. That, at least, he would manage to keep. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much to leave if he got to take even that little piece of the blue-eyed man with him.

When he’d managed to regain control over himself, Arthur pulled back from Alfred’s embrace and offered a watery smile.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly. “Promise.”

Alfred smiled and kissed the Angel’s forehead before taking his hand and leading him off along the path again.

The feeling of the American’s calloused palm against his own smooth hand was oddly pleasant, and Arthur focused on that as they walked, trying to memorize the way it felt. Protective and strong but gentle, warm, affectionate, loyal.

_Like he’ll never let go._

Arthur shook his head a little, closing his eyes and frowning.

_You’ll never make it through this walk if you keep thinking like that. Stop thinking about leaving. Focus on being with him while it lasts._

It was easier if he snuck glances at Alfred’s face. The ash blond was smiling ever so slightly, glasses reflecting the weak afternoon sun as the wind ruffled his hair and that one odd bit stuck up in the front. Sunkissed skin contrasted perfectly with laughing sapphire eyes. His shoulders were relaxed and he strolled along as if he had all the time in the world, one hand holding onto Arthur and the other tucked into the pocket of the brown jacket he’d dug out of the closet. It had a big white 50 on the back that was driving Arthur crazy—he couldn’t figure out what the numbers stood for, but he didn’t want to ask. The mental challenge of figuring it out on his own was too enticing.

By the time the two men reached their destination, Arthur was no closer to discovering the meaning behind the number than he’d been when they left Alfred’s apartment. He was willing to let it go for the time being, however, in favor of relaxing in their usual spot.

Still holding hands, Angel and human climbed the hill and settled together on the bench beneath the tree. It was a little damp, but neither of them cared. It was their spot; it had been since the first time Alfred took Arthur there to show it to him. This was the first time they’d visited since Ivan.

With a soft sigh, Arthur pulled his legs up under him and leaned against Alfred’s side as he looked out over the park. Alfred’s arm around his shoulders kept the chilly breeze at bay and before long he felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy, but he fought sleep. There was something he wanted to do, first.

“Alfred.”

“Hm?”

“What was it like in the military?”

“Terrifying.”

Arthur smiled and laughed a little even though he knew Alfred wasn’t joking. “No, I mean, why did you enlist, where did you go, what did you do?”

Brushing his fingers through the Angel’s golden locks, Alfred was quiet for a few minutes as he thought back to his years as a member of the U.S. Military. “I was a Marine. I enlisted fresh out of high school because I couldn’t afford college and I didn’t want to get stuck in some dead-end job for the rest of my life. The military seemed like the perfect option.”

Silent, Arthur snuggled closer to the American and patiently waited for him to continue.

“Boot camp was hell. I’ve always been athletic, so the drills weren’t much of a challenge, but when it came to following orders, I was in the habit of disobeying or arguing. I don’t really do very well when it comes to authority figures.”

The last bit brought another smile to Arthur’s lips. “I can believe that, you ornery git.”

It was Alfred’s turn to chuckle and he gently squeezed the Angel’s shoulders in a fond sort of way. “Once I finally managed to learn to follow orders, I did fine. Graduated, deployed, fought. I was sent overseas—I don’t even remember the names of all the countries we went to. Just that there was a lot of fighting, a lot of deaths and pain and fear. They make war seem so glorious, you know? Make you think you’ll be a hero, wave your flag and spread freedom around the globe. Kick ass and take names, all that bullshit.”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“War isn’t glorious. War is hell on earth. You make friends just to watch them get killed or hurt, disfigured beyond recognition, at times. You can’t walk down a road without worrying that you’ll step on a bomb or get hit by an ambush just around the corner. Every night, you wonder if you’ll make it through, if you’ll get home to see your family and friends again.” His voice almost cracked as he spoke, and Arthur wrapped his arms around the taller man’s torso in an attempt to comfort him. Alfred smiled gratefully, resting his cheek on top of the Angel’s head.

“After a while, you stop caring. You go numb. Gunfire doesn’t make you jump, the explosion of a grenade brings only the hope that it wasn’t someone you knew. Then you start getting angry. Everything bothers you. You hate the enemy for doing what they’re doing, for making you come all the way from your home to fight them, for attacking you and killing your friends. But in the end, you’re just trying to make it long enough to go home, and you’re doing everything you can to make sure your friends go home with you.

“That’s why I have that medal in my closet, with my uniform. I rescued some of my fellow marines. I don’t remember much of it. It’s all just a blur, just terror that I was going to die or they were going to die, anger over everything we’d lost already. Determination to get them home in one piece. In war, your friends are all you have, and you might only have them for a few days. The military’s where I met Antonio and Ludwig and Romano, even Feliciano—he was a volunteer in a hospital, since the sight of a gun just about makes him faint with fear. He doesn’t even carry one at work like the rest of us.”

“And Ivan?” Arthur asked, so quietly Alfred almost didn’t hear him; the taller man was quiet for a moment.

“Yeah, and Ivan.”

“What happened?”

“He was a foreign liaison working with my unit. I’d never met anyone like him.”

“You were attracted to him?” It was hard to sound like he was only curious and not genuinely upset by the idea.

“Not at first. Intrigued, sure, but there was something…off, about him. Dangerous, like you had to watch your step or he’d decide you were an enemy, too. But the thing about Ivan is that he can be the most seductive man on this planet when it suits him. Even though I didn’t trust him, I couldn’t say no when he asked me for…sexual favors. When we got out of the military, the favors turned into a relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I did care about him, and he said he loved me all the time. I was happy even with the nightmares. But then…he changed.”

The more Arthur heard about the Russian, the less he liked him. He sounded like a manipulative sadist and it bothered him a great deal to think he’d seduced Alfred. “How so?”

Alfred shrugged. “He had trouble sleeping and he started to drink all the time. Mostly just enough to get tipsy and happy, but sometimes he got dead drunk. When he started getting drunk a lot, things got really bad. He wanted sex all the time, but if I wasn’t in the mood and refused, he would get mad and accuse me of not loving him. He either made me feel guilty enough that I gave in or forced me.”

Shocked and outraged, Arthur sat bolt upright on the bench and would have flared his wings had it not been for the bandage and bulky clothes, his green eyes narrowed dangerously. “He did _what?_ ”

Hands clasped loosely and hanging between his knees, head down and gaze lowered, Alfred was the picture of shame and hurt. “The worst part is that I still couldn’t leave him. After all that time, I had to believe that he would get better again. I tried to get him to go to therapy, join a group to quit drinking, anything that would make things like they were. He always apologized for hurting me and said he wouldn’t do it again, promised he would get help.” He puts his hands over his face and heaved a sigh. “And I was stupid enough to believe him.”

“Alfred.” Arthur laid a gentle hand on the human’s arm, trying to get him to look up. “You can’t blame yourself for hoping it would be okay. It should have been okay. You had every right to expect him to make those efforts and take care of you.”

Alfred shook his head but didn’t argue. “I left him when I found out he was using and dealing drugs. Not when he was home, of course, because then he probably would have forced me to stay, and who knows what else he’d have done to me as punishment for trying to leave. I took what money I had and wandered around New York until I found this place. I got the job at the lab as a night guard so I wouldn’t have to put up with the nightmare, deleted Ivan from all my social networks and blocked him on my phone. It didn’t stop him from trying to find me, but the guys knew what had been going on and lied to him about knowing where I was. I don’t think I’d have made it so long without them. Now he knows where I am, though, so I’ll probably have to move again.”

“If he comes back, I’ll beat the git to a bloody pulp,” Arthur growled. “He won’t even have a chance to lay a finger on you.”

“Thanks, Artie.”

Even though he was smiling, Alfred had never looked more vulnerable than he did at that moment—the American looked like he was about to shatter. He’d just told Arthur something he’d probably never wanted to talk about again. That was gesture of trust that Arthur appreciated more than he could ever say, but he could try.

“I was murdered.”

Blue eyes widened and blinked at the sudden admittance. “What?”

Arthur looked out over the park, green eyes looking at something far away that only the Angel could see. “That’s how I died. I told you before that the human belief that good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell is somewhat true. With Angels, it’s all about how you die. You have to die in a way that helps others. Living a good life, being kind and caring and dying in your sleep when you’re eighty years old doesn’t cut it. That’s not good enough. You have to _give_ your life to others. I was murdered in order to save someone else.”

Speechless, Alfred stared at the other man and waited for him to explain further.

“His name was Francis. He was my lover.”

“What…what happened?”

A sad smile lifted the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “We lived near a small village, just inside the border of a forest. He was an artist. He saw beauty in everything and somehow managed to show it in his art, making everyone see the world as he saw it. Flawed, but beautiful. Enchanted. Perfect. Before Francis, I didn’t really get close to anyone. I was always on my own, working—I was a carpenter, and a good one. I made tables and chairs, shelves, sensible things that would last a long time and were useful. I met Francis when I went to him seeking advice on how to add elegance to my work. Hated the wanker at first, you know.” 

The Angel chuckled fondly then sighed, eyes never leaving that invisible thing on the horizon.

“He got me to come around, eventually. I taught him how to carve wood and gave him a place to stay, and he helped me relax and showed me how to enjoy life. Everything was about love and beauty with Francis. He was only sad if others didn’t see the joy in life that he did. And he was an awful flirt, always losing track of time while talking to the pretty girls in the village. He made me so terribly jealous, but every time he would sweep me off my feet all over again, and I couldn’t stay upset for more than a day.”

“You must have really loved each other,” Alfred commented quietly, feeling guilty all of a sudden for wanting Arthur all to himself when somewhere there was someone else who had loved him for years and was probably better for him than a traumatized veteran with a stalker ex-boyfriend.

“Yes, but those were times when it was acceptable to stone a woman if she was not a virgin when she was married. Francis and I were discovered after we’d been living together for several years. The villagers who had been our friends all that while turned on us, called us devils and sinners, the worst of Satan’s servants. They came to our house in the middle of the night with the intent to hang us both. I stayed behind so Francis could escape.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Arthur’s eyes, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away or hold them back.

“He didn’t want to go. He was determined to stay by my side, no matter what. I told him I would never forgive him if he stayed, made him swear that he would find somewhere peaceful to live, somewhere quiet where we could have been happy again. Then one last kiss, and he was gone. The villagers were content with me. They dragged me back to the village and tried to make me confess to being a devil. I remember repeating, “love is not a sin,” over and over again and it made them so angry. When they couldn’t force me to admit to anything, they took me to the village square and waited until dawn. Then they burned me in front of everyone I had once called friend. No one tried to stop them or help me, not even the children that had come to my house to have lessons with Francis.”

The tears went freely down Arthur’s cheeks now, and it was all Alfred could do to pull the petite man against him, hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Arthur nuzzled into the American’s chest, sniffling quietly. “After I died, Romulus took my soul to heaven and asked me if I wanted to be an Angel. I accepted without hesitation. The first thing I did was make sure Francis was okay. He did exactly as he’d promised—he built a little cottage in a field surrounded by trees, miles from anyone else. It was the quietest, most peaceful place to ever exist. His days were filled with painting and singing, and once a month he would ride to the nearest town for supplies. He was still a flirt, but he never chose another partner after me even though there were plenty of attractive men and women to choose from.”

He’d stopped crying now, but he didn’t pull away from Alfred’s embrace.

“Sometimes, I would hear him talking to himself. If I listened closely, he would say my name as if I was sitting beside him. He told me about his trips into town, the people he met, what he dreamt about. It was almost like he knew I was listening.

“When he grew too old to ride, he arranged for supplies to be brought to him. He died an old man in that little cottage, but he wasn’t alone. Romulus let me go to him, and I was able to spend my lover’s last day on earth with him in that meadow. We spent the whole day talking, remembering the good times and ignoring the bad. When his body died, I was the one to guide his soul to heaven, and even though he wasn’t given the option to become an Angel, he was happy. His soul was as young and vibrant as his body had been in his youth, and the last thing he said to me before he moved on to the afterlife was that he’d known I was there all along, and that had been all he needed.”

Another round of tears made their way down the Angel’s pale cheeks, dripping onto the brown fabric of Alfred’s jacket. They sat motionless on that bench for a long while, holding each other. Alfred’s story of a relationship ruined by abuse and addiction and Arthur’s tale of love destroyed by the cruelty of others surrounded them, made them seek comfort in the other’s warmth and strength.

“I know I’m not Francis, Arthur,” Alfred whispered, cheek resting on the top of the Angel’s head, “but I do care about you, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

Arthur smiled just barely and placed a feather-soft kiss on the taller blond’s cheek. “I care about you, too, Alfred, and I’m glad you’re not Francis. I like you for you.”

_I love you, and if Francis was watching this right now, he’d want us to be happy together._

The Angel was starting to wonder if that was even possible.


	16. Chapter 16

Alfred woke as the sun was going down and the chill of a pre-winter night began creeping into his bones. It was time to go back to his apartment, but Arthur was still asleep, curled up almost in the American’s lap with Al’s arm around his shoulders.

_He’s so cute._

Even though he knew he should wake the Angel so they could go home, he hated the idea of disturbing the man he loved. So, as gently as he could, he stood and pulled Arthur off the bench, draping the smaller man over his back.

“Mm…Alfie…?” Arthur blinked sleepy green eyes as his sort-of-awake brain tried to figure out what was going on. Why wasn’t he sitting on the bench anymore?

Smiling fondly, Alfred hooked his arms under Arthur’s knees and shifted the Angel to a more comfortable position. “Go back to sleep, Artie. I’ve got you.”

The Angel nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around Alfred’s neck and nuzzling into the tall man’s shoulder. He was sound asleep only a moment later and didn’t wake again the entire time Alfred was piggy-backing him home.

As always, the American was surprised by how deceptively light the Angel was. Arthur weighed next to nothing, and his warmth on Alfred’s back helped to ward off the chill in the air. That didn’t keep Alfred from hurrying, though. He wanted to get Arthur inside before it got too cold for the Angel.

_He’d probably tell me to quit worrying,_ the bespectacled man thought with a smile, _or remind me that Angel’s are stronger than humans so the cold doesn’t bother him at all._

Regardless, he hurried, though not enough to jostle the sleeping man on his back or to agitate the Angel’s wing or back. It was completely dark out by the time they were safely back in the apartment, and Alfred made sure to lock the door before carrying Arthur into the bedroom. The Angel was still fast asleep, so Alfred took it upon himself to change him into a clean pair of boxers and then tucked him into bed.

“Sweet dreams, Artie,” he whispered as he kissed the Angle’s temple, his hand resting on the petite man’s lower back. Then he turned and left the bedroom with the intent to shower before going to sleep himself; he didn’t notice the sound Arthur made or the way the Angel curled onto his side.

_There was something different about his meadow. It was flatter, though there were hills visible in the distance, and the fog that usually hung in the low places had retreated into the trees. The other thing that was out of place was Arthur’s clothing—he was wearing his toga, not the human clothes he should have been in._

_“Ah, I understand.”_

_It wasn’t_ his _meadow. He was actually dreaming, and so his clothes had changed; even his wing and back were healed. Smiling now, Arthur spread his wings and launched himself into the air. Immediately, joy rushed through him at the feeling of wind in his hair and feathers, the strength that coursed through his wings as each powerful stroke took him higher._

_This was freedom. This was everything good in the world._

_Arthur let his eyes fall closed as he soared above the treetops. Genuine dreams were rare for Angels, and he meant to enjoy every last moment of this one. After a while, he felt something tugging at his mind, an irresistible urge, and he swooped low to turn and follow it._

_When he saw what he was being led to, he was so shocked he almost fell out of the sky._

_“It can’t be.”_

_Nervous but hopeful, Arthur landed with his wings spread wide to steady himself and approached the small cottage. The details were so familiar it was painful._

_“Hello?” he called, unwilling to go inside without first knowing if there was a dream-person inside._

_“Ello! Un instant, s'il vous plait!”_

_Pain struck Arthur’s heart and his knees felt weak all of a sudden. He knew that voice._

_“F-Francis…!”_

_“Hm?” Looking as young and lively as the time Arthur had first laid eyes on him, Francis walked out of the cottage. He smiled, blue eyes twinkling as his long blond hair fell gracefully around his shoulders._

_“’Ello, love,” he said softly, in that tender, affectionate tone he had used every single morning when they woke up together all those years ago. Hearing it after so long brought tears to Arthur’s eyes and his throat felt tight._

_Wordlessly, he stumbled to the man he’d thought he would never see again and hugged him tightly. Now he knew without a doubt that this was a dream outside his own control. Which meant that Francis, the one he was hugging at this very moment, wasn’t real, and that hurt more than Arthur could bear. He broke down into tears, clinging to Francis as the taller blond guided him inside to a small cot and sat with him, holding him close._

_“Zhere, zhere, mon cher. No need to cry.” Lips pressed to his forehead and Arthur whimpered in the back of his throat._

_“I-I miss you, y-you French b-bastard,” he choked out, making Francis laugh._

_“Et I miss you, but I ‘ave passed on, et you ‘ave fallen in love again, oui?”_

_Arthur hesitated, wondering if this dream-Francis would be jealous. “Y-yes. His name is Alfred.”_

_“Does ‘e treat you well, mon cher?”_

_Nodding, Arthur took a deep breath and managed to stop crying. “He does.”_

_“Et does ‘e love you?”_

_“I…I don’t know.” That was only partially true. Arthur knew that Alfred cared for him a great deal, and he had a vague memory of the American telling him that he loved him. Arthur had, however, written that off as a mostly-asleep-imagined memory. Still, he certainly liked to think that Alfred loved him back, even though it would just make things harder when the Angel finally had to leave._

_“Per’aps you should ask ‘im, mon petite Angleterre,” Francis suggested, his tone gentle and supportive._

_“I can’t.”_

_“Why not?”_

_Arthur looked away, though he remained in Francis’ embrace. “It would complicate things too much.”_

_“I zhink it is already quite complicated, Arzhur.”_

_Even though he knew the dream-Francis was right, Arthur didn’t agree out loud. His situation with Alfred was starting to get complicated, though it appeared simple on the surface. Admitting how he felt would just make it worse._

_Francis sighed as if he knew what the Angel beside him was thinking. “Stubborn as always.”_

_That made Arthur smile in spite of himself, and he was about to tease the Frenchman when a sudden jolt went through his body, the sort of jolt that only happened when…_

_“Did you touch my wing just now, Francis?”_

_“Non, mon cher.”_

_If it wasn’t Francis, that meant…_

_Shit._

_Arthur’s eyes widened as he felt his body growing warm, and Francis chuckled._

_“If you won’t tell ‘im, my old lover, zhen show ‘im.”_

_Just like that, the cottage and field were gone, replaced by the hill in the park in that unsettling way dreams have of changing in the blink of an eye. Also in the way of dreams, it was summer in the park, not on the brink of winter like it should have been. Arthur sat alone on the bench at the top of the hill, flushed and starting to pant lightly._

_“Damn it! What the bloody hell happened to make me like this?!”_

_The first possibility was that he’d rolled in his sleep and rubbed his wing on something. It was more likely, however, that Alfred had accidentally touched one of Arthur’s wings and therefore put him in the state he was currently in._

_Arthur was aroused, and there was only one thing he could do about it._

_“The one downside to being an Angel,” he muttered to himself, lifting his toga to glare at the focus of his body’s reaction. “Knock it off. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”_

_His overheated body ignored him, naturally, and the Angel felt another jolt, this one stronger than the last. They would only get worse the longer he waited, though Arthur thought he could be stubborn enough to resist the whole way through._

_A third jolt made his back arch and he bit his lip to fight it, desperately resisting the urge to touch himself. That was_ not _what he wanted out of this dream!_

_It was at that moment that Arthur caught sight of the last thing he wanted to see—someone was coming towards him up the hill. Panic filled him despite the fact that this was just a dream. What if they saw him like this? That would be beyond embarrassing, and extremely shameful. When he recognized the messy blond hair and glasses that were reflecting the sun, he seriously considered flying off before Alfred reached him._

_“A-Alfred, don’t come any—hng—closer!” he called desperately, nails digging into his thigh in an attempt to keep himself under control for just a little bit longer._

_The American ignored him and Arthur watched him come closer and closer, trembling now with both the effort of containing himself and with his body’s need for release. He held his toga over himself protectively when Alfred finally reached him, looking up at the blue-eyed man with a pleading expression._

_“I’m not d-decent, Alfred,” he managed, shifting on the bench in an attempt to rub himself with his thighs—a soft moan escaped him and his eyes fluttered shut._

_“Artie, are you okay?”_

_No, no, he wasn’t okay. He was horny beyond all belief and the man he was in love with was standing less than a foot away in a dream where anything could happen. To hell with it._

_Opening his eyes again, he released the fabric of his toga and grabbed onto the shirt the dream-Alfred was wearing, pulling him down and kissing him fiercely. Alfred was obviously surprised by this but didn’t argue._

_“Alfred,” the Angel growled, pulling at the taller man’s clothes insistently, “this is probably your fault, so you’d better take care of it.”_

_“My fault?” Alfred began placing kisses on Arthur’s neck, his hand wandering up the pale thigh to slip under the toga. “Do I turn you on this much, Artie?”_

_A hiss sounded from between Arthur’s teeth as that wandering hand found its target. “Yes, you bloody do, now get on with it!”_

_The American chuckled, patiently stroking the Angel’s hardened member. “Good.” He kissed Arthur again, and this time hands were tangled in his hair as Arthur pulled him down onto the bench._

_To the Angel’s immense irritation, Alfred pulled away only a few moments later, but before he could curse and demand to know what the human thought he was doing, Alfred had lifted him off the bench and instead laid him in the grass. Arthur blinked in surprise at the man who was now over him, cheeks turning pink. He had to remind himself that this was all just a dream in order to build up the nerve to reach down and undo the zipper and button of Alfred’s jeans._

_“Arthur?”_

_Green eyes met blue—Alfred looked nervous. “Yes?”_

_“You sure about this?”_

_“Yes, and I really don’t think I can wait much longer, love, so please get on with it.” He was practically begging now, as flustered and aroused as he’d so quickly become. Alfred nodded and kissed him for the third time, and Arthur was quick to open his mouth to the taller man, wanting to finally know if the American’s taste was anything as intoxicating as his smell._

_It was better. The American tasted like freshly brewed coffee mixed with something light and sweet and before he knew it, Arthur was kissing Alfred with everything he had. He hardly noticed his toga being pushed up to bare everything below his chest or that Alfred had kicked his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. Only when the taller man bucked his hips down onto the Angel’s did Arthur tear away from the kiss to let out a loud moan, bucking back as yet another jolt shook his spine._

_“A-Alfred…”_

_Kisses and small bites on his neck and collarbone distracted him before Arthur could finish what he’d been about to say, not that he minded. This dream-Alfred was as good at this as the Angel had secretly hoped the real Alfred was, and he was enjoying every second of it. He felt his hips being lifted off the grass and wrapped his arms tightly around Alfred’s neck. This was it. Even though it was a dream and wouldn’t actually hurt him, Arthur felt a spike of fear at the thought of having sex after so long—he hadn’t done this since Francis, so it would definitely be uncomfortable and most likely painful. If it wasn’t just a dream._

_Arthur took a deep breath. “Do it.” He bit Alfred’s ear and held onto him tightly as the American lined himself up then entered him._

_He was bigger than Francis, or at least it felt that way since Arthur hadn’t been prepared or stretched first. But he was pretty sure this dream-Alfred was bigger than Francis had been. It didn’t hurt, though, thanks to the dream logic Arthur was so heavily relying on just to be able to do any of this. It felt good. Amazing. Arthur barely managed to force his mouth to produce something other than moans._

_“M-move…”_

_Obediently, Alfred began rocking his hips, and Arthur’s back arched as far as it could. True, it wasn’t the same as what sex in real life would be like—not quite—but it was still enough for him to move with Alfred’s thrusts, bite his neck, call his name, dig his nails into that muscular back as the grass cushioned his own smaller body._

_Arthur licked one of the bite marks he’d made, feeling himself getting close to his climax. “Alf-fred…hah…”_

_“Nng…y-yeah?”_

_“Just a l-little more!” He could hear the desperation in his words and he knew the dream-Alfred could hear it, too, because suddenly the taller man was moving faster, large hands gripping the Angel’s slender hips as the force behind his thrusts increased. It didn’t take long for Arthur to finally reach his breaking point._

_Dragging his nails down Alfred’s back, he bucked his hips up into the American’s, shouting his name as ecstasy crashed down on the Angel. Then Alfred was biting his neck and thrusting even harder than before as he experienced his own release._

_“A-Arthur…!”_

_“Alfred…”_

_They rode it out, holding onto each other for dear life and lying together in the grass when the pleasure began to fade, panting as if they’d been sprinting. Arthur nuzzled into the tanned chest beside him, licking at the sweat that had gathered on Alfred’s skin and thinking he should have put a hickey there. A gentle hand brushed through his hair and the Angel looked up in time for Alfred to kiss him softly._

_“Love you, Artie.”_

_“Love you, too, Alfie.”_

_At least he could admit it in his dreams._

It was the biggest shock of his life when Alfred woke up in the middle of the night to find that the dream he’d been having hadn’t been entirely a dream.

_I’m going to have to wash the sheets again in the morning._

Further inspection made the normally tan American go pale and even a little green. He hadn’t gotten on _Arthur,_ had he? It looked like it. But he really, _really_ hoped he hadn’t. How was he supposed to explain that?

“Oh, yeah, I had—another—dream about having sex with you, and I accidentally got semen all over the blankets. And on you. Sorry.”

Not going to happen. Ugh, why was he always getting in these situations? It hadn’t even been the best sex dream he’d had about the Angel! Just very basic and straightforward, yet this was the first time he’d actually released outside the dream without going into the bathroom and taking care of the erection he occasionally woke up with. What was so special about this time?

With a heavy sigh, Alfred carefully got out of bed and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. That at least gave him enough light to see what he was doing without waking the Angel. Now, how was he going to do this? He could move Arthur to the couch—after cleaning him up, of course—then put the sheets in the wash machine before getting in the shower. A clean set of sheets on the bed, put Arthur back and go back to sleep. The only thing he’d have to worry about explaining was why he’d decided to change the blankets in the middle of the night. Maybe the Angel wouldn’t even notice. Alfred did have very similar sheets, so there was a chance he could get away with this.

His mind made up, Alfred went to Arthur’s side of the bed and scooped the Angel into his arms to carry him out to the couch to continue sleeping. Unfortunately, he’d only made it halfway there when Arthur stirred.

“What’s going on…?” the Angel asked, words slurred with sleep. It was adorable.

“Uh…” Shit, _now_ what was he supposed to say? “Nothing, I just…spilled a glass of soda on the bed so I’m changing the sheets.

A small, puzzled frown creased Arthur’s forehead. “Oh…okay…” He allowed himself to be set on the couch then shifted uncomfortably as Alfred went back into the bedroom to retrieve the sheets and threw them in the wash machine. While the American was busy with that, Arthur looked down at himself to discover a sticky white substance on his boxers.

Curious but a little afraid to touch it, he went into the bathroom to get a better look at it while Al was busy starting the machine.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, finally recognizing the substance for what it was. “H-hey, Alfred!”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t start the machine yet. I’ve got some…soda…on my boxers.”

“All right, just put them in after you change and I’ll wash them with the sheets.”

“I will.”

Disgusted with himself, Arthur took off the dirtied boxers and left them on the floor as he stepped into the bathtub and cleaned himself up. He put a towel around his waist when he was finished and took said boxers out to put in the wash machine along with the sheets and the pajama pants Alfred had been wearing. Apparently, the American had been drinking a rather large glass of soda and managed to spill it everywhere. As to _why_ he’d been drinking soda at…three in the morning, Arthur didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He was just glad to have gotten rid of the evidence of his dream without the human knowing. That was all he needed was to have to explain that Angel’s had sex dreams, too.

By the time Arthur had wandered back into the bedroom and found a new pair of boxers for himself, Alfred had put new sheets on the bed and was on his way to the bathroom for his own purposes.

With a yawn, the Angel climbed into bed and settled comfortably, though he stayed awake until Alfred came back so that he could snuggle with the taller man.

“Good night, Alfred.” _I love you._

“Night, Artie.” _Love you, too._


	17. Chapter 17

With his arms elbows-deep in a sink full of soapy water, Alfred hummed and scrubbed at the dishes they'd used for their dinner. Arthur had gotten the broom out and was busy sweeping the floor—as he moved within range, Alfred stuck his hip out to bump the Angel playfully, then went back to washing the dishes as if he’d done nothing. Stumbling slightly because he’d been taken by surprise, Arthur whipped around and tapped the taller blond on the head with the broom handle, frowning slightly and sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.

Prepared to defend himself from an irritated British Angel, Alfred turned around only to be distracted by the sight of that protruding lip. It was a soft shade of pink and slightly wet with the smaller man’s saliva, perfectly plump and just begging to be nibbled and sucked on. The American’s face turned red as images of doing just that filled his head, and he hoped desperately that Arthur hadn’t noticed the pair of blue eyes locked on his mouth with what had to be a hungry expression. Only a moment later, the lip disappeared as Arthur’s pout turned into an expression of confusion.

“Alfred, are you all right? Did I hit you too hard?”

“What?” The American blinked and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Just spaced out for a second there.” He really needed to stop doing things like that.

Arthur gave him a concerned look before he went back to sweeping, and before long the kitchen was clean and the leftovers were put away in the fridge.

“Did you call Antonio?” the Angel asked as he moved to sit on the couch and picked up the remote to the TV.

“Yeah, so I have to go in tonight. You’ll be okay here by yourself?” The question was slightly muffled as Alfred went into the bedroom to change into his security guard uniform.

Rolling his eyes but smiling, Arthur turned on the TV and began flipping through the channels in search of something to watch. “I’ll be fine. You just make sure you get to work and back safely.” He glanced out the window at the snow that had been falling all day and the previous night. They were all but trapped in the apartment, and Arthur secretly wished that Alfred didn’t have to walk to work. He didn’t like the idea of the American wading through the snow to get to work then having to come all the way back in the morning. The snow would soak his pants and he’d be freezing the entire time—he would get sick if he wasn’t careful.

“A couple of my coworkers offered to pick me up and drop me off ‘cause of the snow.” Now dressed and ready to go, Alfred appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, smiling, then went to the closet by the front door to retrieve his belt. Clipped to it were his gun, taser and a pair of handcuffs. Despite himself, Arthur’s gaze shifted from the TV screen to the silver cuffs dangling from Alfred’s waist and he swallowed thickly. It became a matter of self-control when he felt the desire to go to the taller man and take the cuffs off the belt, smiling innocently, and ask how they worked. Would Alfred mind showing him? If it wasn’t too much trouble, that is.

Arthur nearly smacked himself in order to get a grip before he let his imagination get too involved in that little fantasy. Ever since that damned dream, he was having a harder and harder time keeping his hands off the tanned American. Alfred was just so bloody _inviting_ and Arthur had the suspicion that his advances might not be unwelcome if he chose to follow them.

“That’s good,” he managed in a forced-calm tone. “I was worried about you walking in this weather.”

Grinning, Alfred moved to stand in front of the couch—putting those bloody handcuffs within Arthur’s reach—and sat on the coffee table so the two males were nearly face to face. The handcuffs were instantly forgotten as a new fantasy invaded the Angel’s thoughts. Now he wanted to cross that short distance and climb into the blue-eyed man’s lap, pushing him back on the coffee table and kissing him for all Arthur was worth, tell him that he changed his mind and wanted Alfred to stay home tonight then make love right there on that little table.

_Oh, bloody hell! You’ve obviously spent too much time on this planet, Arthur. You were never this dirty-minded in heaven and certainly not before you became an Angel. Francis used to tease you about being a prude, and here you are mere seconds from begging this nearly perfect man to pin you on this couch and make you his forever._

Just like that, he pictured Alfred moving forward and doing exactly what he’d just thought, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch to keep from making a sound until fingers snapped before his eyes and he looked up into those sapphire eyes. “Hm?”

“You sure you’re okay, Artie? You’re flushed.” Concerned, Alfred held the back of his hand against the Angel’s forehead. “You feel really warm. Are you getting sick?”

Even that little touch made the Angel shiver and he bit his tongue. “N-no, I’m fine. You can go to work tonight—you need the money.” God, he couldn’t decide if he wanted Alfred to stay or not. Stay and end up losing all semblance of control, or go and be left to deal with his growing arousal on his own.

Luckily, he didn’t have to choose, because at that moment a horn honked outside and Alfred looked towards the window.

“That’s Ludwig and Feliciano. I’ll be back in the morning.” Leaning forward, he kissed the Angel’s forehead. “Night, Artie.”

_Fuck, this is bad,_ the green-eyed man thought, nails biting into the palm of his hand so he wouldn’t throw himself at the American and demand a real kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

One last smile, then Alfred was gone, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief. Now he could take care of his, uh, _problem_ without fear of being discovered. He wasn’t going to be rash and desperate about it, though. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

After making sure the front door was locked, Arthur went into the bathroom and began filling the tub with hot water, adding in soap and mixing it around with his hand to create a mass of bubbles on top. Steam rose and quickly filled the room, fogging up the mirror and making Arthurs’ skin feel damp. The Angel sighed and slowly stripped, stretching as he did so, and dropped his clothes to the floor a piece at a time. He liked to imagine that Alfred was there watching him, and the thought made his body heat up in a pleasant way. Those blue eyes would slide over his pale skin, devouring him with nothing but a hungry look, and Arthur would shiver as if the look was a touch.

Arthur smiled demurely and, naked, climbed up onto the counter to kneel over the sink so he was facing the fogged over mirror. Bracing himself with one hand, he used a single finger to write out a message in the fog.

_**I want to fuck Alfred F. Jones.** _

The lewd wording, combined with his handprint just underneath, made for a pleasing picture, and part of him hoped that Alfred would accidentally discover the message the next time he showered. Arthur could picture the way the American’s eyes would widen in surprise, almost hear the nervous chuckle that would escape the taller man. Undoubtedly, Alfred would ask him about the message, and that would be the perfect opportunity for Arthur to reveal how much he needed him. Right now, it sounded like a brilliant plan, but he knew that he would clean the mirror after his bath so that it couldn’t happen. He was aroused and wanted Alfred—once he was calm again, he would know it wasn’t possible. For now, though, he left the message where it was. For now, he was ignoring his better judgment.

Careful not to bump his knees or shins on the edge of the counter, the Angel dropped back onto the floor and crossed the small room to the bath tub. Bubbles swirled lazily on the water that was still putting off steam. He imagined taking Alfred’s hand and pulling the larger man with him as he stepped into the tub, the hot water pleasant against his skin. Slowly, he sank into the water and sighed, immersing himself completely for a few moments. His skin glistened when his head and shoulders rose out of the water, and he pushed his hair back out of his eyes before leaning against the side of the tub, legs stretched out under the water. All he needed to do now was decide how he wanted to do this.

Arthur trailed a hand up his thigh, pretending his soft touch was Alfred’s calloused hand, imagined that the American was sitting behind him and Arthur was leaning back against that strong, warm chest, not the cold shower wall. He knew how he wanted his release.

Pulling his legs towards himself so his knees stuck out of the water, he slipped a hand under himself and rubbed at his backside the way he thought Alfred would and tried to imagine the American’s mouth on his neck or ear, licking, sucking, and nipping in a way that would make the Angel gasp. His other hand slid from his collarbone to his nipple and he played with it, unashamedly moaning Alfred’s name.

“Hng…Alfred…”

Breath coming in short pants, Arthur moved his hand from rubbing his rear and searched for his entrance with gentle but impatient fingers just the way Alfred would. When he found it, he stroked and teased so that his entire body quivered, and he bit his lip as a needy whimper escaped him. Then he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax before carefully pushing a single finger inside himself. The pain of being penetrated for the first time in so many years wasn’t as bad as he’d been expecting, but it was still enough to bring tears to his eyes and make him cry out, his back arching away from the wall. To cover up his discomfort, he let his other hand abandon the sensitive nub on his chest and began stroking the hardened length between his legs.

_“It’s all right, Artie. I’ve got you.”_

It was too easy to imagine what Alfred would say to him, and Arthur felt himself slowly relaxing again, the pain fading away almost to nothing as he rubbed and palmed himself. Carefully, he began moving his finger.

“A-Al…hah…more…” he begged softly despite the fact that no one was there to hear him. Obliging himself, the Angel inserted a second finger and scissored them apart to drive a groan from himself, his hips bucking slightly and making the water swish around.

_Alfred chuckled and kissed the Angel’s shoulder, squeezing his length gently so that Arthur whined. “Does that feel good, Artie?”_

“Y-yes!”

Another finger, pushing deeper, faster and harder, twisting and spreading to stretch him enough to accommodate the American’s size as the hand on his shaft squeezed and pumped. Pants and gasps made Arthur’s chest heave. Without making a conscious decision to, he leaned forward enough to move his wings and rubbed the feathery appendages together, the contact driving his pleasure even higher. Sweat and condensation beaded on his skin, rolling off his shoulders and face; in his head, a tongue licked at the moisture and teeth dragged over his skin, making him shiver excitedly.

“Bite…please…”

_Smirking, the American tilted his head and licked up the side of the smaller man’s neck before biting down, gently then harder, tugging and sucking at the soft flesh as Arthur moaned. His fingers finally located that bundle of nerves inside the Angel and the way Arthur called his name was so filled with lust and desire that it aroused them both even further. Both of Alfred’s hands began to move faster._

He couldn’t take it much longer. The tightness that had formed in his stomach was almost too much, and Arthur’s hips were moving of their own accord—there was probably water all over the bathroom floor from how many times he’d bucked from a spike of pleasure.

“S-so close…nng…A-Alf-fred!” With one last upwards thrust of his hips, Arthur reached his climax, shouting the American’s name as he did so. His vision went white as a blinding wave of pleasure crashed over him, and slowly returned as the sensation faded. Panting, he removed his fingers from his entrance and quickly washed them off in the soapy water—he thought vaguely that it was a good thing he’d done it this way, because it meant there was no mess to clean up.

It was several minutes before the Angel’s strength returned enough for him to be able to stand up, and even then his knees shook and threatened to give out. Stubbornly, Arthur held onto the railing on the shower door for balance as he let the water out of the tub then turned on the shower so he could actually clean himself. This water, unlike before, was almost cold, and he stood in it as it soothed his heated flesh. His wing was sore from being leaned against and then being moved the way it had, and he knew it was going to be sensitive the next day, but he didn’t care. It was worth it.

Clean and more than ready to crawl into bed and sleep, Arthur shut the water off, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Then he looked to where his message was still legible on the mirror and quickly wiped it away. Alfred couldn’t know about any of this, no matter how much Arthur wished he hadn’t only been imaging the American’s presence while in the bathtub.

“I can’t have him,” he whispered to his blurry reflection, wet hair plastered to his head and wings dripping. Slowly, he dried himself off then went from the bathroom to the bedroom. Doing what he’d done had left him exhausted, and he could hardly wait to snuggle into Alfred’s bed and fall asleep surrounded by the taller man’s scent. The only thing missing was the American himself, but as Arthur crawled into bed and all but shoved his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply, he thought he could pretend that Alfred’s arms were wrapped around him, holding him close and safe. Pretending was going to have to be good enough.

X

“Thanks for the ride! See you tonight!” Slamming the car door, Alfred dashed across the street and up the sidewalk to the front door of his apartment, keys at the ready.

It was still snowing, and he had to stomp the white substance off his boots once he got inside and shut the door, locking it once more. His belt was placed back in the closet and he left his shoes by the door so he could quietly sneak into the bedroom. Arthur was sound asleep in the bed, and Alfred smiled to himself as he grabbed his pajamas before heading to the bathroom to shower.

Strangely enough, there was a puddle of water on the floor that he placed a towel over to soak up before turning the shower on. The hot water let off steam and soon the small room was filled with it, fogging up the mirror—a large smear on the opaque surface caught his attention and he looked closer. It looked like there had been something written there. He could just make out the very tops and bottoms of some letters, but not enough to know what the message said. There was also a handprint that was too small to be his own, which meant it was Arthur’s. Had the Angel written something on the mirror then wiped it off? Hm. He’d have to ask him about it in the morning. First, though, he needed to shower then dress so he could get some sleep—going back to work after almost two weeks of vacation had made it hard to stay up all night.

Showered and dressed ten minutes later with his teeth brushed and hair combed, Alfred went back into the bedroom and slipped under the blankets. He kissed Arthur’s forehead before settling down to sleep, and the Angel turned, shifting closer, and mumbled incoherently under his breath. Alfred chuckled and lightly touched the sleeping man’s cheek.

Throwing caution to the wind, he leaned close and very, very gently pressed his lips against Arthur’s, a hand settling on the golden blond’s hip. Alfred’s fingers stroked the soft skin they found there, and it took a moment for him to realize that this meant Arthur was naked—he wasn’t even wearing boxers like he usually did. Still, he didn’t pull away from the other man for several more moments, and when he did, he could have sworn Arthur followed him slightly as if not wanting the kiss to end, though upon checking, he knew the Angel was still sleeping peacefully.

His hand moved to cup the smaller man’s hip and he marveled at how perfectly it fit into the shape of his hand, how soft and smooth Arthur was, especially compared to how rough Alfred knew his hands were. It didn’t bother him in the slightest that the Angel didn’t have any clothes on. After all, he’d had plenty of little day dreams about spending all day in bed with the other man doing nothing more than cuddling with him. They’d both been naked for those daydreams, but Alfred knew better than to think that now was a good time to make them come true. All that would do is make Arthur uncomfortable and then Alfred would feel obligated to sleep on the couch again.

Leaving his hand where it was, the American snuggled up to the sleeping Angel and sighed in contentment, their foreheads pressed together. It wasn’t the same as falling asleep at the same time as the petite man, but it was better than nothing, and Alfred was content with it. One last sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, and within moments he was fast asleep, curled up comfortably beside the man he loved.


	18. Chapter 18

_Breaths coming in gasps and pants, Alfred pushed the petite man against the wall even harder than before, nipping, sucking and licking at the Angel’s neck. Arthur moaned, his legs wrapped tightly around Alfred’s waist as the American took him roughly._

_“H-harder…”_

_The tone that was so close to begging drove Alfred’s arousal even higher. Drawing the Angel into a searing kiss, he did what was asked of him so that Arthur’s nails dug into his back._

_“Alfred…what are you dreaming about?”_

_Confusion broke through everything else he was feeling and Alfred pulled away to look at Arthur’s face. The petite man was looking at him curiously, oblivious to the fact that only moments ago they’d been in the middle of mind-blowing wall sex._

_“W-what?”_

_Arthur smiled cutely and poked the American’s cheek. “Wake up, Alfred.”_

A touch on his shoulder made Alfred sit bolt upright, blue eyes wide. “What?”

“You fell asleep,” Feliciano supplied helpfully from where he stood beside Alfred’s chair—he was the one who had touched Al’s shoulder—and offered the American a smile. “What were you dreaming about?”

Uh…” Images of a naked Arthur in the throes of an orgasm flashed through his mind and Alfred cleared his throat nervously. “Nothing.”

“Lying bastard,” Lovino cut in, his usual scowl in place. “You were making too much noise for it to have been nothing.”

Alfred’s face turned a deep red. Had he really been making noises? Well, _that_ was embarrassing. But as long as he hadn’t said Arthur’s name, he was safe. “I was, um, having a nightmare. Recurring one.”

Sympathetic looks from everyone except Lovino confirmed that his lie had been believed, and he relaxed. “Did I miss anything important?”

“Nope!” Feliciano chirped. “We were just waking you because it’s time to patrol!”

Dismay at having a dream like that one interrupted just to go walk around in the snow in the middle of the night bloomed in Alfred’s chest, but he shoved it back down—he shouldn’t be having dreams like that while he was at work, anyway. Nodding his appreciation, Alfred stood and grabbed his coat. It took them all several minutes to get properly bundled up to deal with the weather outside. Thick coats, gloves, hats and scarves kept all but their eyes covered up in order to protect them from the cold. Alfred felt like a marshmallow or a balloon with how poofy his coat was, but he didn’t mind it once he got outside and the cold began trying to invade his woven shields. The coat kept him warm enough that his teeth didn’t chatter and he didn’t shiver, and the gloves, although clumsy, still allowed him to use his flashlight and open doors. He wasn’t entirely sure if they’d allow for enough movement for him to use his gun, but he was hoping he wouldn’t have to do that, so he didn’t think about it for more than a few moments. Besides, the only time he’d ever drawn that gun was when Ivan hurt Arthur, and that had been under special circumstances. That had been to protect Arthur, and Alfred had absolutely no qualms about doing whatever it took to protect his Angel.

He couldn’t help but grin when he realized that somewhere along the line he’d started to think of Arthur as “his” Angel. Not that he would ever say that out loud. But it was true. He did consider the green-eyed man to be _his,_ whether Arthur knew about it or not.

Smiling behind the fabric of his scarf, Alfred finished his rounds then headed back inside. He was definitely going to have some coffee or a hot meal in the break room to chase out any of the cold that managed to seep into him while he’d been outside.

“Ve~Alfred!”

His hand on the door knob to the security office, Alfred turned to see Feliciano and Ludwig coming towards him. The Italian looked like an adorable little meatball, he was wearing so many layers to protect him from the weather. There was no way he’d gotten it all on by himself, so Alfred decided that Ludwig had gone into ultra-protective mode and dressed the younger man himself.

“Hey.”

“Alfred! AlfredAlfredAlfredAlfred!” Practically bouncing, Feliciano made his way to the tall blond and looked up at him excitedly. “Are we still invited to come to your apartment in a couple of nights?”

Shit. He’d forgotten all about it. This week was his turn to host their monthly Night In—but what about Arthur? He could hardly expect the Angel to be okay with the idea of four extra males in the apartment with them. Arthur hated covering up his wings even for the short walks they took to the park, so there was little chance the Angel would be willing to put up with Feliciano, Ludwig, Antonio, and Lovino. Especially not Lovino. Al could just imagine how irritated the Angel would be after only a few minutes around the moody Italian. It wasn’t a pretty sight in his head, but it _was_ amusing.

“Um…I’m not sure, Feli. I’ll have to ask my friend. He got hurt so he’s staying with me until he gets better. If he’s okay with it, then of course you’re still invited.”

Feliciano let out a happy little squeal at this and immediately turned to Ludwig, chattering to him about what drinks there might be and what they would do this time. Al couldn’t help but smile to himself as he went to the security office and set to work making himself a bowl of hot ravioli and a mug of strong coffee to go with it. He was sort of hoping Arthur was willing to let him have his friends over—oh, geez, now he was starting to sound like the totally whipped boyfriend—so they could all spend time together. He wanted to know if Arthur was amazing to everyone or if there was something special about him that only Alfred could really pick up on. Maybe it was both. Either way, he knew his friends would love Arthur no matter what. How could anyone not love an Angel?

X

The mattress shifting beneath him woke Arthur and he opened his eyes to see Alfred settling beside him—a sleepy yet happy smile appeared on his face and he reached for the taller man, touching his chest shyly.

“Alfie…”

A warm hand covered his own and lips pressed to his forehead. “Hi, Artie. Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Nodding, the Angel snuggled against the American, arms winding around his ribs, and sighed in contentment. “Love you, Alfie.” He felt a gentle hand running through his hair and tried to shift even closer to the man, though that wasn’t entirely possible.

“I love you, too.”

“Good...”

That made Alfred chuckle, and even once he fell back asleep, Arthur knew the tanned American hadn’t let him go or moved away.

The second time he woke up, it was considerably later in the morning and he felt much more awake. His position with Alfred had also become a bit more compromising. Arthur’s leg had somehow wormed its way between the American’s and wrapped itself around the taller man’s own leg. At some point, Alfred’s hands had shifted onto the Angel’s back, his arms wrapped around the smaller man’s waist, and were now resting dangerously close to his wings—even the littlest movement could cause them to move up and touch the feathery appendages, and Arthur didn’t want to think of what would happen after that, especially because if it did happen and he tried to get away, there would only be even more friction and then Alfred would definitely know what was going on. But he didn’t want the American to know just how sensitive his wings were, at least not yet, so he held as perfectly still as he could. He’d also managed to place himself on top of the American while Alfred lay on his back, his head tucked under Alfred’s chin in a way that was very similar to when they’d fallen asleep on the couch during the storm. Just as he’d been then, he was entirely comfortable and perfectly warm in the taller man’s arms—he spent several moments listening to his heart and feeling his chest expand as he breathed—and couldn’t bring himself to want to move.

_There’s no point in waking him up just to get out of bed. What will you do, watch TV? You’re turning as lazy as some humans, Arthur. You need to find a more active hobby so you don’t get out of shape. Besides, you’re comfortable. He’s comfortable. And you don’t want to risk him touching your wings accidentally if you decide to move and he reacts._

This time, he didn’t manage to stop the thought before it bloomed into an entire little movie in his head. He would try to sit up, his legs still tangled with the American’s, and it would startle Alfred awake so that he moved his arms. Not knowing any better, he would touch Arthur’s wing joints and then the Angel would have to freeze, biting his lip to hold in a moan or a whimper as one of those tell-tale spasms shook him. That would concern Alfred and he’d try to figure out what was wrong, hands rubbing Arthur’s lower back in a way that was meant to be comforting but that sent shivers down his spine. He’d shake his head. Nothing was wrong. He was fine. Of course he was fine. And Alfred wouldn’t believe him because obviously _something_ was going on, and he’d hug Arthur and try to get him to relax and tell him the truth, but being pulled close would only cause friction and that would make it even worse. Before Arthur could stop himself, he’d lick or bite the American—probably on his neck or chest—and when Alfred gave him a surprised look, he’d pull him into a kiss.

Not a gentle one, either. A rough one, because when someone touched Arthur’s wings he became desperate and he needed to convey that to Alfred by any means necessary. He’d straddle the taller man’s hips without pulling away from the kiss, licking and sucking at Alfred’s lower lip and making embarrassing little mewling sounds because moving around to straddle him was causing even more friction and he just loved it. Unable to stop himself, he’d start to grind his hips against Alfred’s and the human would gasp in surprise and hopefully pleasure because if Arthur was going to feel good then he wanted Alfred to feel good, too. That would be the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss, and he would wrap his arms around the American’s neck and press close to him, probably with a hand tangled in that ash blond hair to keep him from pulling away.

That was when Alfred would finally start participating, and he’d kiss back in a way that easily overpowered Arthur but he didn’t care because he liked how strong and dominant Alfred was. Moans would escape him—they’d both be panting by now. His grinding would grow less and less controlled until he was begging for Alfred to please, please, _please_ just touch him. He needed that touch, needed to feel calloused palms on his body, rubbing and squeezing every single sensitive spot those warm hands could find. Every little stroke of the American’s fingers would ratchet his need up a notch until he was whining out of desperation and Alfred would _finally_ help him take the borrowed boxers off, revealing how very aroused he was, and for the first time since they’d woken up he would look into Alfred’s eyes and tell him that he loved him, that he needed him and he wanted Alfred to take him the way a lover should, and those blue eyes would be full of lust and love and they’d kiss again, and—

_Oh, bloody hell._

Now he’d done it. He could feel his body growing warmer despite the fact that his wings hadn’t even been touched and he took deep breaths to try to calm himself before he got hard and disturbed Alfred. He didn’t think he could live through that sort of embarrassment.

_Just think of bad things. Something sad or painful._

His mind instantly went to being struck by lightning and the terrifying pain that had followed—almost immediately, he felt his heart rate slowing. Then he thought about Ivan. Big, drunk, intimidating Ivan and how he’d tried to take Alfred away. How he’d grabbed Arthur’s wing and broke it like it was nothing more than a twig. Remembering that pain was enough to make his eyes water, and in that moment he knew that he was safe from his body’s reaction to his daydream. He shoved the memories back down into the dark corners of his mind where they belonged. Now, instead of being too warm, he felt cold and nervous, as if Ivan might burst through the bedroom door and snap his other wing just as easily as he had the first.

Trying not to whimper, Arthur buried his face in Alfred’s chest and began to take long, deep breaths of the human’s scent to comfort himself.

“Artie…? What’s wrong?”

Damn it, he hadn’t wanted to wake him! It was still too early for Alfred to be up—probably—and he felt guilty for having disturbed the taller man’s sleep. “Nothing…just a bad dream…”

To his immense relief, the hands on his back moved down and the way Alfred was holding him turned into more of a hug.

“Tell me,” the American whispered, his breath tickling Arthur’s ear ever so slightly.

Arthur shifted, pressing himself even closer to Alfred and nuzzling into his neck. “I remembered the lightning. And Ivan.”

“Oh.” The arms around him tightened protectively and, as he’d done in Arthur’s daydream, he began rubbing slow circles on the Angel’s lower back. Unlike in the daydream, it was simply comforting, and Arthur was grateful for that.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he apologized quietly, guilt lacing his tone. “You’re probably still really tired.”

“Naw, I’m all right,” Alfred replied with a small grin. Arthur couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, so he just accepted it as the truth.

“Okay.”

The hand on his back continued its slow circles until Arthur was on the verge of falling asleep again, warm and comfortable once more.

“Hey, Artie?”

“Yes?”

Alfred seemed to hesitate. “What would you say to meeting some of my friends?”

Friends? His interest piqued, Arthur sat up slightly so he could look Alfred in the eye, putting their faces only a few inches apart. “Which friends?”

“The guys from work. Lovino, Antonio, Ludwig, and Feliciano. We usually get together on one of our nights off once a month, and this month it’s my turn to host. The plan is for them to come over a couple of days from now, during the evening when we’d usually be going to work. I told them I had an injured friend staying with me, so I wasn’t sure if it was still a good idea for them to come over, but I promised to ask you if you think you can handle it.”

Green eyes clouding over as Arthur thought about it, he considered what it would be like to spend an evening with more than just Alfred for company. Not that Alfred wasn’t all the company he needed—my, he was starting to sound sappy—but it could be fun to meet more humans, especially the ones Alfred liked and trusted and considered to be his friends.

“I…think it sounds like a lovely idea,” he said after several moments, and Alfred grinned, showing his perfect white teeth and making his eyes sparkle even in the dim bedroom.

“Really? Great! Feli will be happy to hear that.”

Arthur assumed that “Feli” was a nickname for Feliciano and smiled back at the excited American. “What do you do on these nights when you get together?”

Still grinning, Alfred settled back on the pillows and gently pulled Arthur down so he could cuddle the smaller man. “Watch action movies, eat junk food, play card games, BS with each other and have a few beers.”

“You drink?” For some reason, it surprised Arthur. He hadn’t actually witnessed Alfred having an alcoholic beverage, but that was no reason for him to assume than an adult American didn’t drink. Alfred just didn’t really seem like the type to spend his evenings drinking beer with his buddies. He seemed more like the type to build a blanket fort and watch super hero movies, or maybe that was just the side of him that Arthur had seen.

“Not very much. I, uh, don’t really trust alcohol.” Something in the way he said it told Arthur that there was a deeper reason for that, but he didn’t push because he didn’t want to ruin Alfred’s good mood. “I’ll only have a couple when the guys come over.”

Nodding, Arthur placed his hand on Alfred’s chest and spread his fingers apart, examining the contrast between his pale skin and Alfred’s tanned color. He’d never thought about it before, but there was still a lot that he didn’t know about the American. Like what his favorite color was, where he grew up, his favorite season or book or food.

_I hardly know him at all,_ he realized, saddened by the thought. _How can I truly be in love with him when I don’t know any of those things? Even a good friend would know all that about Alfred._

It then occurred to him that Alfred didn’t know any of those things about him, either, and yet the American had confessed to love him back. Twice now, he remembered the American saying it to him, and even though he’d been mostly asleep both times, he was sure they were real memories.

“Arthur.”

“Hm?” Curious because Alfred had used his full name and sounded like he’d been thinking about something, the Angel looked up at him.

“Did you write something on the mirror in the bathroom?”

_Uh oh._

“Why do you ask?”

Alfred shrugged. “I noticed that it looked like something had been written on it then wiped off the other night when I showered, and I kept forgetting to ask you about it ‘til now. I know it wasn’t me, so I figured I’d just ask.”

Hesitating, Arthur went back to looking at the difference between his skin and Alfred’s. What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t very well admit that he’d written, “I want to fuck Alfred F. Jones” on the bathroom mirror moments before pleasuring himself with the American’s face in his mind while pretending his own hands were Alfred’s larger ones. That was completely out of the question. So he lied.

“Yes, I did. I was feeling a bit useless the other night while you were at work, so I decided to take a bath before bed. When the mirror fogged up, I wrote how I was feeling in it then wiped it away to try to get rid of the feeling.”

“Oh. Did it work?”

Arthur smiled. “It did, actually. I haven’t felt like that since.”

“Good.” A soft kiss was placed on his forehead and he blushed lightly before cuddling closer to the American.

“Alfred?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Deep blue.”

“And your favorite book?”

This one took longer for the blue-eyed blond to answer. “I really like the Harry Potter series.”

A smile broke out on Arthur’s face. “I love those books!”

Chuckling, Alfred ruffled the Angel’s hair playfully. “You have books in heaven?”

“Any book we want.”

“Do you buy them or what?”

“No, we use magic, you silly human.”

“Isn’t that stealing?” Alfred teased.

“No,” Arthur huffed, mildly offended, “we create an entirely new copy of the book with our own strength and knowledge of spells.”

“So you copied down seven books using magic just so you wouldn’t have to pay for them.”

“Angels don’t use money, you twat!”

Alfred laughed as he shielded himself from the smacks Arthur was trying to give him, eventually capturing the Angel’s wrists and holding his arms so that all the petite man could do was squirm around and try to break free.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my wand! I’d have turned you into a mouse for accusing me of stealing!”

“Then I’ll consider myself an incredibly lucky guy,” Alfred chuckled, twisting so that Arthur fell onto his back. Still holding the pale wrists, the American pinned Arthur down and smirked at him. “Now, what was that you said about an Angel at his weakest being stronger than any human at his best?”

“Shut up,” Arthur growled, glaring at the man above him. “I just don’t want to hurt you by breaking free.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really!”

Lifting an eyebrow, the American looked down at Arthur in amusement. “I didn’t realize you have such a temper, Artie.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Alfred.”

“Like what?”

“As if I’m going to tell you.” Arthur smirked, his expression one that clearly said he considered himself to be far superior to Alfred. “If you’re so great, _human,_ then you should be able to figure it out on your own.”

“But, Artie.” The whining tone Alfred used took Arthur by surprise and he dropped his defenses as the blue-eyed man leaned closer, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. “I don’t wanna guess. I want you to tell me like the nice Angel you are.”

God damn it all. How on earth did Alfred know how to make such an irresistible face? His eyes had somehow gotten even bigger and bluer than should have been possible, and his hair was still messy from having been asleep. To top it off, his bottom lip stuck out ever so slightly. Without his glasses, he looked much younger than normal and Arthur just wanted to hug him and coddle him for eternity. Either that, or kiss him the way he’d been thinking about earlier just because that protruding lip was practically begging him to.

“U-um…what?” he squeaked, eyes glued to that lip and the way just a little bit of moisture made it glisten slightly in the light coming in through the window. The pout on Alfred’s face morphed into a smirk and he leaned even closer, making Arthur press into the mattress nervously.

“What’s the matter, Arthur? Did this human make you lose your train of thought?” It was a seductive whisper that never should have come out of Alfred’s mouth, and all Arthur could think to say in reply was to challenge the American to make him lose his breath, too, but he bit his tongue and remained silent. Thoughts like that were dangerous when he was in such a compromising position with the man he wanted to kiss so badly.

Somehow, Alfred had gotten his knees on either side of Arthur and was hovering over him as he continued to hold the Angel’s wrists down—Arthur couldn’t help but think that, had their circumstances been simpler, they’d have started kissing by now. But that was a dangerous thought, too, so he looked away from the blue eyes that had been boring into his own green ones and huffed.

“Get off me, you oaf.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and kissed the Angel’s cheek before getting up, making Arthur blush all over again.

“What do you want for breakfast?” the American asked as he got out of bed and stretched, unaware that Arthur was examining his back and ass with an expression that was borderline hungry. “I’m thinkin’ blueberry waffles.”

Arthur took a moment to get his thoughts under control. “Sounds delicious.”

Turning, the American smiled that heart-melting smile and offered his hand to the Angel. “Then let’s go make some.”

His cheeks still tinted with a blush, Arthur accepted the offered hand and stood, letting Alfred lead him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Some mornings were almost more than he could handle.


	19. Chapter 19

This was it. It was happening. Nervous energy buzzed in Alfred’s veins as he paced his small living room, hands clasped behind his back and blue eyes darting towards the front door every few moments.

_Relax. It’s not the first time they’ve all come over, you know. There’s no reason to get all worked up over it. Be cool, Alfred._

But it _was_ the first time he was going to introduce Arthur to another human, or anyone at all. The incident with Ivan didn’t count—they hadn’t exactly been introduced to each other—and Alfred was unreasonably excited to show his Angel off to his friends even though they wouldn’t know Arthur was an Angel.

At that moment, in fact, Arthur was in the bedroom, wrapped up in a towel from his bath as he tried to decide what would be best to wear in order to hide his wings for the evening without being too uncomfortable or odd-looking. He eventually decided on a pair of dark jeans that were so baggy on him they looked silly and the same hoody he always wore for their walks to the park. It was his favorite one.

Alfred was in the middle of trying to sneak a peek at the Angel while he changed when a knock sounded at the door and he jumped about a foot in the air. Immediately, his face turned a dark red in embarrassment even though no one had seen him acting so skittish.

“Come in!” he called, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. The front door opened and the American placed himself in front of the bedroom door, pulling it closed so that whoever had arrived first wouldn’t catch a glimpse of Arthur before the Angel was ready to be seen. He smiled at his guests, his usual grin slipping into its place, and moved forward to shake the taller of the two males’ hand.

“Hey, guys! Glad you could make it!” he greeted cheerfully, earning an amused look.

“ _Hola,_ Alfred. You seem to be in an extremely good mood tonight,” Antonio commented as his hand was finally released. The Spaniard had his other arm draped around the shoulders of his companion and squeezed gently to encourage the shorter male to speak up.

“ _Ciao,_ ” the other muttered before pulling out of Antonio’s embrace and moving to flop down on the couch, his arms crossed over his narrow chest.

“Surly as always, Lovino,” Alfred couldn’t help but tease the Italian; his giddiness was really starting to get the better of him.

The only response he got from Lovino was a raised middle finger, not that it did anything to dampen his spirits. Instead, it inspired him to fetch three bottles of beer from the fridge and give one to each of his guests before opening the one he’d kept for himself. He’d barely gotten the bottle to his lips when another knock at the door had him putting the bottle down on the coffee table so he could open the door. Standing outside, bundled up against the cold, were Ludwig and Feliciano.

Grinning widely, Alfred stepped aside. “Come in, come in! I’ve got hot food and cold beer, and I’m in the mood to annoy the hell out of Lovino until dawn!”

That last part made Feliciano giggle as Lovino glared at the three of them from his place on the couch. Silently, Antonio moved to sit beside the shorter male and wrapped his arms around Lovino’s waist, pulling him close.

“ _Relájese, mi tomate. Vamos a divertirnos esta noche, ¿no?_ ” he whispered as he nuzzled his nose against the Italian’s cheek. Lovino rolled his eyes and pushed at Antonio’s chest in a fruitless attempt to get the larger man off of him.

“You know I don’t speak Spanish, _bastardo._ ”

Antonio chuckled as if Lovino had called him some cute little pet name rather than a bastard. “Drink your beer and quit sulking. You know you’ll have a good time as soon as you relax.”

As much as he looked like he wanted to argue, Lovino simply muttered under his breath before picking up the beer Alfred had gotten for him and taking a long drink from it as Antonio smiled and continued to hold him.

Now slightly awkward due to the intimate exchange they’d just witnessed, Alfred and Ludwig shared a glance over Feliciano’s head and silently agreed not to comment.

“Why don’t I take your coats,” Alfred suggested in a much calmer tone than he’d previously been using, “and you two can make yourselves comfortable.”

Ludwig nodded and began helping Feliciano out of his many layers of warm clothing until the happy Italian was left in skinny jeans, sneakers and a sweater that was so ridiculous it _had_ to be homemade, probably by Feli himself. Nevertheless, he looked just as carefree and, quite frankly, adorable as always when he skipped over to the couch and plonked himself down on his brother’s other side. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Antonio was practically seducing Lovino right then and there, though Ludwig definitely noticed and hurriedly shrugged out of his own coat and scarf in order to place himself between Feliciano and the Spaniard with his soon-to-be victim.

Shaking his head but smiling slightly, Alfred hung up the German and Italian’s coats in the small closet then looked over his shoulder. “Tonio, Lovino, you want me to take your coats?”

“ _Sí, por favor,_ ” the Spaniard responded quietly, though his green eyes remained locked on the Italian that was now almost entirely seated on his lap as Lovino continued to drink his beer at record speeds. Without putting more than a few inches of space between himself and the smaller male, Antonio managed to remove his coat and hat then somehow did the same to Lovino—to everyone’s surprise, the Italian didn’t struggle or curse or yell or even blush. Lovino quietly allowed himself to be stripped of his outer layers and even let Antonio kiss his cheek afterwards, then set his now-empty beer bottle on the coffee table.

“Are we gonna do something or just sit here?” he demanded, though his tone lacked its usual bite and when he frowned at Alfred, the blond thought Lovino’s eyes didn’t look quite focused.

 _I always forget how much of a lightweight he is,_ Al thought absently as he picked up his own beer and took a small drink after hanging up Antonio and Lovino’s coats.

“Ve~Ludwig, can I have a beer, too?” Feliciano asked, looking up at the German with the biggest puppy eyes he could manage. They all knew Ludwig would say yes. Not right away—he always made Feliciano wait for a while before he deemed it was safe for the small Italian to have a drink. Believe it or not, Feliciano was even more of a lightweight than Lovino was, and the moodier Italian was tipsy from one bottle.

“Not yet, Feli,” Ludwig replied gently. “You should have somezhing to eat first.”

The mention of food wiped the idea of alcohol clean out of Feliciano’s mind and he immediately ran into the kitchen in search of something to eat, babbling excitedly about making pasta and pizza and who knows what else. Alfred decided that now was an excellent chance to see what was taking Arthur so long to get dressed—the Angel had yet to make an appearance, and he usually only took a couple of minutes to dress after his showers.

His beer in hand, Alfred went to the bedroom door and knocked softly before pushing it open a few inches. “Arthur? You okay in there?” Peering into the room, he saw Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and silent. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Alfred stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind himself then moved to sit by Arthur, slipping his arm around the Angel’s waist. Wordlessly, Arthur leaned into the embrace and sighed quietly.

“Tell me what’s bugging you,” Alfred urged quietly, upset to think that something was wrong with his Angel.

Arthur hesitated. “I just…what if they don’t like me? I haven’t directly interacted with humans in decades. What if I say something offensive or stupid? What if I make a total git of myself in front of your friends?”

“You won’t,” the taller man assured him. “You’re an Angel, Artie. You’ve been working with humans all that time, indirectly or otherwise. You know how to act around people. Hell, you’ve been living with me for almost a month, and you haven’t done a single stupid or offensive thing this whole time.”

The Angel smiled a little in spite of himself. “True. Though I don’t know what I could possibly do or say to offend you. You just laugh at me if I say anything even mildly insulting, you twat.”

“That’s because heroic Americans like me don’t let dead British dudes get to us,” Alfred replied casually, then stood and pulled Arthur to his feet. “Come on, the beers are open and Feli’s about to start cooking. Time to meet the humans.”

“You make it sound like you’re taking me home to meet your parents,” Arthur muttered, then blushed to imagine what that would be like. God, he’d be so nervous he wouldn’t even be able to stand up. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that thought because Alfred had opened the door and pulled him out into the living room; his blush darkened when he realized that the American was holding onto his hand and had absent-mindedly laced their fingers.

 _We look like a couple._ The thought made him smile shyly and he lifted his green-eyed gaze to find three strange men looking at him curiously.

“Guys, this is my friend, Arthur. Arthur, this is Antonio, Lovino, and Ludwig. The one in the kitchen is Feliciano,” Alfred introduced them, indicating each person as he said the names. “We were in the military together and managed to get jobs at the same place, so now we’re all stuck with each other until further notice.”

Arthur’s smile widened and he waved a little. “Good evening.”

Interest sparked in the one Alfred had called Antonio’s eyes—they were green, darker than Arthur’s but still vivid and bright. “You’re British?”

“Yes, just visiting America on business,” Arthur replied, somewhat pleased that his accent wouldn’t seem so out of place here. Antonio had a clear Spanish accent, and the quiet singing that was coming from the kitchen definitely wasn’t in English. It sounded like Italian, but he would have to pay closer attention to be sure.

“Alfred said you are staying vizh him until you are recovered from an injury,” Ludwig pointed out, keen, icy blue eyes examining Arthur for signs of an injury that would require the American to miss work. Arthur almost thought those eyes could see right through his clothes and rustled his wings nervously then realized what he’d done and hoped that no one else had noticed.

“Yes, I ran into a bit of bad luck during that lightning storm last month,” he explained vaguely, hoping to avoid any questions that would be tricky to answer without giving himself away or making it obvious that he was hiding something.

“That’s too bad,” Antonio sympathized, and Arthur noticed for the first time that the third man, Lovino, was seated on Antonio’s lap and had his arm around the taller brunet’s neck as he leaned back against him. Lovino noticed Arthur looking at him and tried to glare, though he didn’t quite manage it.

“Whatchoo starin’ at?” he asked, his words running together slightly.

A blush darkened Arthur’s cheeks and he allowed Alfred to lead him over to the chair that had yet to be claimed. To his embarrassment, the chair wasn’t big enough for them to sit side-by-side, so he ended up sitting in Alfred’s lap much the way Lovino was currently sitting in Antonio’s.

 _Now we really do look like a couple._ Obviously, Lovino and Antonio were together. At least, judging by the way the Spaniard kept placing kisses on the other male, they were. Arthur felt a small surge of jealousy over the fact that they could openly be so intimate while he had to hide how much he cared for Alfred. Well…maybe not…

As casually as he could, Arthur took the beer out of Alfred’s hand and took a drink then choked back the cough it caused. He hadn’t been much of a drinker in his human days and certainly not since he’d become an Angel. This modern beer was completely unknown to him. Regardless, he forced himself to take a second drink before he put the bottle back in Alfred’s hand. The look on the American’s face as he stared at the Angel was one of pure astonishment, and Arthur couldn’t help but smirk.

“I’m supposed to be human and fit in, right?” he whispered so no one else could hear, then placed a teasing kiss on Alfred’s cheek. “Watch me.”

Music blared from an old stereo system that Alfred had dug out of the back of the closet and set up on top of the TV. It was playing something loud and fast that Arthur wouldn’t have recognized even if he hadn’t consumed between four and seven bottles of beer. He’d lost count after four, but he didn’t think he’d had more than seven. Maybe he’d had more, but he didn’t particularly care at that moment. All he cared about was that he’d never felt so completely relaxed before in his entire existence. He needed to drink more often.

“Alfred!” he shouted over the music, trying to get the American’s attention from where he was standing on the other side of the coffee table from him. They’d all been dancing to the music a few minutes ago, and Arthur had gone into the kitchen for a glass of water only to return and find that no one was dancing anymore.

Said American was sprawled on the couch beside Ludwig, an open bottle in his hand that he drank from every few moments. The other side of the couch was occupied by Ludwig, who was busy exchanging countless kisses with Feliciano as the Italian sat in the larger man’s lap, his hands curled into the fabric of the German’s unbuttoned shirt. Feliciano had lost his sweater over an hour ago, leaving him in a white tank top that made his tiny frame look beautifully delicate, and his skinny jeans had come unbuttoned and unzipped so that they hung low and loose on his hips. Ludwig’s hands were firmly planted on the Italian’s backside, one of which had slipped inside the jeans, and he didn’t appear to realize that Alfred was sitting only a couple of feet away as he proceeded to turn and press Feliciano into the couch while tugging the smaller man’s pants down even further.

Both blonds had had more to drink than Arthur, but then, they were both much larger than him and could probably handle more alcohol than he could. They were both drunk, as was Feliciano, though the Italian hadn’t had even a full bottle. Antonio and Lovino, who were currently occupying the chair that Alfred and Arthur had abandoned a few hours ago, were the drunkest of the lot.

Had he been sober, Arthur would have been horribly embarrassed to witness the two of them, but as it was, he found himself giggling and blushing uncontrollably when his gaze landed on the almost naked couple as they shared what looked to him like a rather ferocious kiss and pressed together as if trying to fuse their bodies into one person. Antonio was seated normally on the chair and Lovino was straddling him, his hands tangled in the Spaniard’s hair as Antonio held onto the smaller male’s hips, helping him to roll them in a grinding movement. Their sounds were audible even over the music and they clearly didn’t give a damn that they weren’t alone. It was really kind of…hot.

Watching them was surprisingly arousing and Arthur’s attention went back to Alfred, who still hadn’t realized that the Angel had yelled his name and was busy frowning at the now-empty bottle in his hand. Impatient and upset with having been ignored, the petite man stepped up onto the coffee table and, after deciding that it was too warm in the apartment for a hoody, removed the garment and threw it at Alfred with all the force and aim his alcohol-inhibited body could manage. “Alfred Jones!”

Startled to have been hit in the face by a hoody that seemingly came out of nowhere, Alfred sat up on the couch and stared up at Arthur, frowning as he tried to focus his hazy blue eyes. He couldn’t come up with anything to say in response to having his name shouted, as distracted as he was by the shirtless Angel standing before him. His eyes moved up and down the half-naked body in obvious appreciation and he gave a crooked grin that betrayed what he was thinking.

Smirking now, Arthur stepped down from the coffee table—he had to spread his wings to keep from losing his balance and falling on his face—and grabbed onto Alfred’s hands to pull the taller man to his feet. Without any warning, the Angel traded his grip on Alfred’s hands for one on the front of the American’s shirt and pulled him down so they were eye level. He looked straight into those blue eyes that had seemed impossibly clear since the first moment he’d seen them and his breath caught in his throat.

Half-formed thoughts and wishes and fears raced through his mind, chasing each other around and around and around until Arthur didn’t even know what he was more scared of—doing the one thing he’d been fantasizing about for so long and maybe coming to regret it or not doing anything and wishing for the rest of eternity that he’d done it when he had the chance. It was impossible to get it straight in his head with the buzz of alcohol and the ever-present music that boomed inside his skull. The only thing he knew for sure at that moment was that he loved Alfred and he wanted the American to know it.

And, before he could change his mind, Arthur leaned forward and kissed the blue-eyed man full on the lips.


	20. Chapter 20

He tasted like coffee and the burgers he’d eaten earlier that night, and Arthur couldn’t get enough of him. Abandoning every promise he’d made to himself, the Angel pressed his body against the American’s and continued to kiss him until Alfred got over the shock and started to kiss back. And that was even better.

Without pulling away, Arthur stumbled back towards the door to the bedroom and forced Alfred to follow along as their kiss quickly grew in intensity. Moments later they’d managed to get the door closed behind them and had completely forgotten about the four people on the other side. The bedroom was dark and quieter than the living room and Arthur wasted no time in pulling Alfred’s shirt off over the taller man’s head. Finally, he could fulfill all those daydreams about the American; his hands slid over Alfred’s torso as if they had minds of their own and Arthur was less than two seconds away from following them with his tongue when he suddenly found himself being lifted off the floor and carried to the bed.

Gentle despite being drunk, Alfred deposited the smaller man on the bed and moved over him, leaning close to kiss at the Angel’s neck. “Artie…”

“Mm…yes…?”

“I’m gonna make you scream my name like I’ve wanted to do since I found you in that alleyway,” the American whispered huskily, and Arthur felt his body heat pleasantly in anticipation. His only response was to capture Alfred’s face in his hands and kiss him again, tongue sliding out to meet the taller man’s, tangling as their breath mixed together and Alfred pressed his body down on the Angel’s.

Arthur gasped at the pressure, his legs shamelessly falling open in invitation. He felt Alfred grin into the kiss and a large, rough hand slid down his chest, making him arch, and a moment later the hand had moved onto the buckle of the belt that was keeping Arthur’s much-too-large jeans on his body. It took only a few seconds for the belt to fall slack and the fabric of the jeans pooled loosely about Arthur’s waist. Two strong hands gripped his ribs and lifted him slightly.

“Kick them off,” Alfred ordered, his tone gruffer than before, and Arthur shivered before doing as he was told. The hands slid down to his hips, catching the fabric of his boxers and tugging them to his knees.

Cold air on his quickly hardening member made Arthur open his eyes just as Alfred began kissing his chest, warm tongue dragging over the pale flesh. “Ah…A-Alfred…we…we can’t…” Teeth scraping against his skin caused goosebumps to spread over his entire body.

“Can’t what?”

“U-um…” God, that was distracting. Alfred had a very talented mouth and the git was doing his absolute best to drive Arthur crazy with it. Light kisses all over his chest, shoulders and neck accompanied by small nips and even licks, and every time he opened his mouth hot breath rushed over Arthur’s skin, making every touch that much more delicious. And then those calloused hands were on his thighs, his boxers now completely gone, rubbing gently and squeezing so that the Angel moaned softly and squirmed. They moved up slowly until they were on his hips, and then they held him down as Alfred’s talented mouth made its way lower, and lower.

“Alfred!”

He couldn’t help it. His hands tangled themselves into those ash blond locks and he shouted the American’s name, hips lifting as heat enveloped his member. And then Alfred’s head began to move, up and down, his tongue twisting and rubbing in ways that shouldn’t have been possible until Arthur knew he was about to come undone, until his stomach was wound as tight as a spring. He was sweating despite the cold air that somehow got into the apartment from the winter outside. It was difficult to breathe—the taller man’s actions made him gasp and pant as his lungs fought for air.

“A-Alfred…Alfred…god…ah…”

And then the mouth was gone, and the Angel fell limp against the mattress despite the tension humming throughout his body.

“Arthur.” Gentle kisses dropped on the heaving chest, and he couldn’t help but flick his tongue out to capture the beads of sweat that gathered on that delicate body. He liked the way it made Arthur shudder, liked how the Angel gasped his name as if it was the only word he could remember at a time like this. Which, he decided, was how it should be.

“Yes,” the petite man gasped, and Alfred smiled to know how out of breath he’d managed to get the Angel.

“I wanna make love with you, Artie,” he whispered, moving up to put his lips by the golden blond’s ear, “and you seem to want it, too.” Pausing, he slid his tongue around the curve of that perfectly shaped ear then kissed the space just behind it. “But if I’m wrong, and you don’t want to have sex with me, then say it now, ‘cause I’m not gonna wait much longer.”

The sound of a quiet whimper made him draw away enough to look into Arthur’s eyes, and he kissed the smaller man on impulse, loving the hint of tea and honey on the Angel’s tongue.

“I do,” Arthur managed once they broke apart again. “I do, Alfred. You have no idea how much I want you to take me. I can’t even put into words how much I want it.”

The American smiled and leaned down to kiss his soon-to-be-lover’s neck, then froze at the next thing that came out of Arthur’s mouth.

“But I can’t have sex with you, Alfred.”

Instantly, he drew away, sitting up as his alcohol-slowed mind tried to process it. “You…can’t? Why the hell not?”

As if it were all the answer that question required, Arthur propped himself up on his elbows and spread his wings, grimacing at the slight discomfort in the one that was still healing.

“I don’t care that you’re an Angel, Artie!” Alfred burst out, his frustration clear. “I don’t care! I love you, all right? It doesn’t matter to me that we’re different!”

“I…I know, Alfred,” Arthur said quietly as he shifted onto his knees and took the American’s face into his hands. Gently, he kissed the taller man and wished that he would never have to pull away. “I love you, too, and I don’t care, either. Believe me, if I could, I would make love to you in less than a heartbeat.”

“Why can’t you?” The question came out as a whine and Arthur could have sworn he saw tears forming in those blue eyes that he loved so much. “Please, Artie. I need you…I’ll go crazy if I have to take this for one more day…”

“I know, love. I know.” Wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck, Arthur pressed himself against Alfred’s body and sighed quietly.

He was still hard, still unbelievably close to his release thanks to that bloody mouth of the American’s, and he was drunk enough to kiss him, drunk enough to let him touch him and suck him off, and definitely drunk enough to do it all back. But he wasn’t drunk enough to risk his wings. There was no such thing as drunk enough to risk his wings.

“Artie…”

“We can’t because it would destroy me, Alfred. Angels can’t have sex. It’s forbidden. I’d never get to see you again, and I can’t do that.”

“Never?” Now he was almost certain that the American was about to start crying, and he’d never felt so guilty in his entire existence.

“Never.”

Alfred hesitated, his arms winding around Arthur’s waist to hold the Angel tightly. “But…I…”

“Shhh,” Arthur soothed, then pulled back and looked into Alfred’s eyes once more. “We can do everything short of sex, love, and you’ve got such a wonderful, talented mouth, it’d be shame to waste it.”

That made the American blush, and Arthur smiled to see it.

“Would it be all right if I just sucked you off nice and sweet?” the Angel crooned, not caring that, were he sober, he would never in a million years have said such a thing. “I haven’t done any of this in a long time, but I bet I can make you moan.”

The blush on Alfred’s cheeks darkened and he nodded mutely, at a loss for words. Gently, the Angel pushed on his shoulders until he found himself lying on his back, and then Arthur was kissing him again, dominantly this time, leaving no room for Alfred to object or even try to take control.

Slender, skilled fingers traced down his body until they found his pants and then they made short work of them, until his jeans and boxers were gone so quickly that he wondered for a moment if Arthur could use magic even without his wand. It was only for a moment, however, because then a tongue was following the same path that the fingers had taken and he found that he couldn’t really focus on anything at all.

“Ooh, big boy,” Arthur commented playfully, one finger lazily stroking up and down the side of Alfred’s erection.

“Nn…f-fucking tease…”

“Oh, yes, love, I am.” The finger slid up to twirl around the tip before rubbing ever so gently over the vein that was visible; Alfred whined in the back of his throat. “Be nice and loud for me, okay?”

He didn’t have a chance to respond.

Apparently, despite being an Angel and supposedly “pure,” Arthur was just as big of a tease as he’d claimed to be. The winged bastard had made him think he was going to be nice about it, but it seemed like he wanted to torture Alfred, instead. Rather than take all of the American’s length, as Alfred wanted him to do, he’d stopped just after the head and sucked so gently that it almost tickled. And that damned finger was still stroking up and down as if Arthur had all the time in the world.

“Y-you’re not an Angel,” Alfred forced out after nearly thirty seconds of this, his hips lifting in an attempt to push himself deeper into the smaller man’s mouth.

Arthur smirked and gently pressed his tongue against the slit he’d discovered so that Alfred choked out a groan. “Then what am I, love?”

“Hng…d-devil…”

“But you like it,” the green-eyed man purred, finger continuing that maddeningly slow stroking motion that made Alfred grit his teeth.

“N-no I d-don’t…it’s n-not fair,” the taller man argued, sitting up a little to glare at the Angel. “You’re—ah—b-being cruel!”

Suddenly, Arthur’s wings extended and flapped once to propel the Angel forward to land on top of Alfred, pinning the American down with strength that seemed impossible coming from a man his size.

“Cruel? Is that what you think?” His tone made Alfred swallow thickly; a smirk curled up one side of Arthur’s mouth. “I can be _much_ crueler than this, love. Should I show you?”

“U-um…no…I’m okay…”

Arthur chuckled, stroking the American’s cheek as he kissed his nose. “That’s a good boy, Alfie.” Before the bespectacled man could respond, Arthur slid back again and took Alfred’s length into his mouth once more. Unlike the first time, he didn’t stop with the head, choosing instead to painfully slowly take him inch by inch until he had all of him. Only then did he begin to suck gently, his tongue rubbing.

“A-Artie,” Alfred managed, “y-you said you’d be n-nice.”

“I know.” Without warning, he bit gently and lifted his head so that his teeth tugged at the sensitive skin.

“Ah!” The American’s back arched off the bed as he grabbed onto the blankets beneath him, his head tilting back at the pleasure that shot through him. “Arthur!”

The Angel smirked again, sucking harder as his head bobbed rapidly. His hands went to the larger man’s hips, pinning them down with that unnatural strength as his nails dug in just slightly.

God, he’d never felt anything like it. Ivan had sucked him off on occasion, but it hadn’t felt like this. Those times had been domineering, little more than a way for the Russian to stake his claim on Alfred’s body. This was different. This was Arthur, tasting him, teasing him and making him want to call the Angel’s name as loudly as he could. So he did.

Even though he couldn’t move his hips, he arched off the bed as best he could and let out a long moan that turned into the Angel’s name. With trembling fingers, he pulled one hand free of the blankets and reached up to his hair. “A-Artie...”

“Yes, love?” Lips brushed against his thigh.

“Don’t stop,” Alfred commanded breathlessly, then curled his fingers into his hair and pulled gently. Immediately, heat rushed to his stomach and he gasped, for once grateful how sensitive that one bit of hair was.

Curious green eyes looked up at him. “Why are you pulling your hair?”

Alfred met the other man’s gaze then looked away shyly, nervous to share this secret. “It’s my erogenous zone,” he mumbled, and Arthur grinned.

“Really?”

The American nodded, face heating with both embarrassment and arousal at the way Arthur was looking at him.

“Keep pulling on it,” the Angel commanded, leaning down again.

Alfred barely had time to nod again before Arthur wrapped his hand around the base of the American’s member and squeezed, forcing a groan from the taller man. Purely as a reaction, he tugged on his hair again and bucked weakly now that his hips were free of the Angel’s hold. Unprepared, Arthur struggled to relax his jaw enough to take the taller man’s length without choking.

“S-sorry,” Alfred gasped, but Arthur had already adjusted and started sucking again. This time, he let his teeth scrape over the other man’s skin with every bob of his head, twisted his tongue around the object in his mouth and squeezed gently with the hand still wrapped around Alfred’s base.

His grip tightening on his hair, Alfred pulled until he was borderline abusing himself, though he managed to keep from ripping any of the strands out. God, he was close. Despite his claim that he hadn’t done anything like this in a long time, Arthur was definitely very good at what he was doing, and Alfred soon found that he couldn’t take a breath without it leaving him in the form of a groan or needy whine. The occasional whimper escaped him, if the Angel’s teeth touched a bit harder than usual, and the whole while he fought to retain some semblance of thought as mind-numbing pleasure flooded his senses.

“F-f-fuck, Artie!” he shouted when the Angel suddenly started tonguing the head of his erection, licking at the pre-cum that would have slicked the length long ago had Arthur not been sucking it off.

“You’re so close, Alfred,” the shorter man purred, free hand rubbing the American’s thigh. “I can feel how ready your body is.” Gently, oh, so gently, he squeezed Alfred’s member while slowly moving his hand up towards the head. It stopped just below, gripping firmly but not so tightly as to be painful, and then Arthur took the tip of Alfred’s length into his head and sucked just the way he had the first time.

His frustration getting the better of him, Alfred groaned and lifted his hips to try to force himself deeper into the Angel’s mouth again. “Not this again, Arthur!”

A warning squeeze made him bite his lip to hold back a whine.

“I’m going to make you cum, Alfred,” Arthur cooed, a smirk dancing around his spit-and-pre-cum-coated lips, “and you’re going to scream my name while I do it.”

Alfred swallowed thickly but nodded all the same—no one had ever spoken to him like that before, and he didn’t think he’d have been able to refuse the Angel’s command even if he’d wanted to.

“Good boy.”

His hand twisting, Arthur once more took the head of Alfred’s member into his mouth and sucked as hard as he could, knowing that the American would come undone within seconds.

“ _Arthur!_ ”

Just as the Angel had thought, Alfred’s hips bucked up and only a moment later he came, his seed filling the petite man’s mouth despite Arthur’s attempts to swallow it quickly enough. By the time Alfred’s orgasm diminished and he collapsed on the bed, panting and trembling, Arthur had managed to get all but a small trace that escaped onto his lip. Deciding to leave it there for now, he crawled up the American’s sweaty body until they were face to face then waited for Alfred to look at him. Only when hazy blue eyes landed on his face did he deliberately lick at the white substance, secretly pleased at the way Alfred’s eyes widened and how his mouth fell open slightly.

“Was that…?”

“Of course it was, love. You didn’t think I would spit it out, did you?” the Angel whispered, smiling innocently as if he hadn’t just finished sucking off the man he’d been living with for nearly a month.

“I…I don’t know,” Alfred managed, still surprised by what Arthur had just done. “You didn’t have to swallow it.”

Still smiling, Arthur lowered himself to rest comfortably on the American’s chest, slim fingers drawing lazy circles on the tan skin. “I didn’t? Then consider it a favor. You can pay me back by doing the same for me.”

Momentarily speechless, Alfred nodded as thoughts of doing just that filled his head.

Arthur reached down and kissed him softly. “You’re such a good boy, Alfred,” he teased.

That was a bit much for Alfred. Taking the Angel off-guard, he reached up and deliberately stroked along Arthur’s uninjured wing between the first and second joints. Instantly, a shudder racked Arthur’s body and he moaned loudly, back arching as his wing flexed to try to increase the contact.

“A-Alfred…do that again…”

Finally, it was Alfred’s turn to smirk—Arthur was begging, and he was only too happy to oblige. With light touches, he stroked down the arm of the wing then back up to the joint closest to Arthur’s back. He squeezed gently just above where the feathers melted into flesh, feeling the muscles beneath the skin twitch and flex.

“Ah! F-fuck,” Arthur cursed weakly as a spasm shook him, that same spasm that always happened when his wings were touched, and before he knew what he was doing, he straddled Alfred’s waist and began moving his hips against the taller man’s in a way that betrayed how incredibly desperate that little bit of pressure had made him. The friction drove a moan from Alfred, who squeezed the wing in his grasp a second time so that Arthur gasped and bucked.

“Hng! Hah….A-Alfred…you’d better do something about this before I—nng—do it myself!”

Alfred barely managed to nod as he sat up once more and crashed his lips onto the Angel’s in a fierce kiss, his free hand moving to cup that slender hip—it fit his hand perfectly, just as he’d always imagined it would—while he continued to stroke and squeeze the sensitive wing. Each little touch seemed to force Arthur’s arousal higher and higher, until the Angel had his nails buried in Alfred’s back as he trembled with the need for his release.

“Y-you bloody g-g-git!” A sound somewhere between a whine and a growl sounded in Arthur’s throat and he wrenched his wing away from Alfred’s hand despite the fact that the American’s touch was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. “I can’t cum from that! It just makes it worse!”

Panting lightly from the intensity of the kiss that had only just now ended, Alfred nuzzled the Angel’s cheek as he shifted beneath him. “Makes w-what worse?”

“This!” Arthur sat back on his heels and pointed at the hardened mass between his legs, which looked as though it might become painful if it wasn’t tended to soon. “I told you my wings are sensitive! Now quit toying with me because if you’re not going to let me release then I’ll fucking do it myself!”

The thought of Arthur pleasuring himself, even if it meant Alfred didn’t get to be the one to make the Angel scream, was almost too much for the American. He could just picture how the Angel would do it, the way his face would look as he rubbed and palmed himself with those delicate little hands. Would he finger himself, too? It would be such a delicious thing to watch—Al thought seeing the Angel touch himself would be impossibly arousing and he was almost tempted to let Arthur do it, but he still wanted to make the smaller man scream his name, even if he couldn’t do it the way he really wanted to.

“Artie, we can do anything but actual sex, right?” he asked slowly, blue eyes lifting to meet frustrated green.

“Yes, anything.” A split second later, Arthur found himself once more on his back with Alfred hovering over him.

“Good,” the American whispered, his tone lowering into a seductive purr, “cause I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers.”

Green eyes widened slightly and, without consciously deciding to, Arthur let his legs fall open once more. “Yes,” he breathed, hands twisting into the blankets beneath him in anticipation.

A chuckle escaped the taller man and he kissed the Angel’s chest before sitting up and slipping three fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them vigorously as Arthur watched his every move, making sure to coat the digits in saliva since he didn’t have any lube; he’d never bought any after leaving Ivan, since he hadn’t thought he’d need it. When he was sure they were wet enough, he took his fingers from his mouth and slid his hand beneath Arthur as the Angel wordlessly lifted his hips. He didn’t ask if the petite man was ready, didn’t warn him that this might be uncomfortable or a little rough. The moment he found the Brit’s entrance, he stroked it with one slick finger so that Arthur shivered before quickly pushing inside.

Arthur bit his lip to hold back a cry of pain, his body tensing instinctively before he forced himself to relax once more. The finger was already moving inside him, twisting and wiggling and going in and out at a pace that was a little uncomfortable, but the pain was fading quickly. “A-Alfred…nn…”

“Yeah?”

The Angel’s back arched as a second finger entered his body, moaning softly as they spread apart to stretch him. “Mm…s-suck me off, t-too,” he ordered, though his tone was closer to pleading than commanding. Luckily, Alfred chose not to comment on that and instead put that wonderful mouth of his to good use. One of Arthur’s hands abandoned its grip on the blankets and began stroking through the American’s hair as a warm tongue began gently rubbing against his member, licking at the pre-cum gathered on the tip and making Arthur shudder with pleasure.

“You’re really good at that,” he murmured, then groaned rather loudly as Alfred finally took him into his mouth, sucking and licking exactly as he’d done before. At the same time, he pushed a third finger into Arthur so that the Angel’s hips bucked up; he was careful to move with the smaller man so as not to choke on him.

As soon as Arthur relaxed again, Alfred began moving his fingers slowly, twisting a bit every now and then to help the smaller man become accustomed to the invasion. Gradually, the speed of his fingers increased as he pushed them deeper and deeper, twisting and bending and spreading to drive every sexual sound imaginable from the Angel, and Arthur couldn’t get enough.

He’d never felt like this before. Not even Francis had been able to make him this completely desperate. But now, with those tough-skinned fingers delving into him over and over and over, stretching him impossibly wide before twisting and rubbing against his inner walls, Arthur was amazed he hadn’t gone over the edge already. Maybe it was because, while Alfred’s fingers were a bit rough and worked him impatiently, his mouth couldn’t have been gentler. The contrast was driving him mad. His hips couldn’t decide what to do—buck with every thrust of the American’s fingers, or roll gently to follow the movements of that oh-so-talented tongue. His fingers had long ago become tangled in Alfred’s hair just to try to hold on, and the sounds Arthur made varied between groans that tore from his throat and sighs that dropped from his lips so softly they were almost too quiet to hear.

Sweat began to bead on his skin again as his body struggled to keep up with what was being done to him. The fingers spread apart suddenly and he gasped Alfred’s name, only to purr immediately afterwards as the head between his legs lifted slightly and a tongue was dragged along the underside of his cock. He was panting for air, hips twisting to try and guide Alfred to that one spot that would finally, _finally_ take him over the edge. The sparks of pleasure racing up his spine made him curl his toes, made his back arch off the bed.

“G-god, Alfred….more…f-faster…I…I want to scream…”

The mouth that had hold of him smirked, and then the mouth wasn’t so gentle anymore. Teeth scraped over the sensitive flesh, making the Angel shudder as Alfred sucked him harder, his head bobbing faster as that torturous tongue rubbed and flicked at his tip; Arthur’s grip tightened on both the blankets and the American’s hair as Alfred’s mouth caught up to the pace of his fingers. Helpless to stop himself, Arthur bucked up into the taller man’s mouth before pushing his hips back down on those fingers, moaning the American’s name as he did so. He was so close, so goddamn close. Every bit of friction wound his stomach tighter and tighter until it seemed impossible that he hadn’t released yet.

“Artie,” Alfred hummed without taking his mouth away, the vibrations making their way up the Angel’s length pleasantly.

“Y-ye—ah!—yes?”

“What do you want me to do?”

He couldn’t be serious! “You fucking know what I want you to do!” Arthur yelled in frustration, making Alfred chuckle and send another round of vibrations up around the Angel’s member; his back arched at the sensation.

“I want you to say it.”

Despite the fingers still thrusting in and out of him and the fact that Alfred was now dropping damp kisses on his hips and thighs, Arthur bit his lip and remained silent.

“Make me scream,” he whispered after a few moments, shutting his eyes tightly against what he knew was coming.

Alfred didn’t bother replying. The Angel had said exactly what he’d wanted to hear, and he was only too happy to fulfill his almost-lover’s wishes. Taking the petite man’s length into his mouth once more, he relaxed his jaw and throat so he could deep-throat him, humming as he did so and loving the way it made the fingers in his hair tighten. All he needed to do now was find it.

Fingers spreading, he pushed them as deep into the other man’s body as he could and rubbed against the hot walls, searching as he continued to suck and hum. His hand twisted to provide new angles and he began again, until his finger brushed against a small bump that made Arthur’s hips jerk upwards.

“ _Alfred!_ ”

Smirking now, Alfred drew his fingers back until they’d almost come out of the Angel before roughly thrusting them back in to ram into that bump, and the sound that tore from Arthur was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. The Angel yanked on his hair as he bucked, trying to force himself even deeper into Alfred’s mouth before slamming back down so that his fingers hit that spot once more. Alfred used his free hand to pin the paler man’s hips down as he began a fast pace of rubbing and thrusting his fingers against the bump that was obviously Arthur’s prostate.

Within a minute, the Angel had been reduced to a trembling, writhing mess that was coming apart at the seams. Every time Alfred touched that bump, Arthur called his name in voice that was just short of a scream and Alfred absolutely loved the way it sounded. He could tell how very close the Angel was and knew it wouldn’t take much to push him over.

His fingers twisted again, bending to rub against that bump, and at the same time he dragged his teeth over the Angel’s member from base to tip. Just as he was about to pull his fingers away again, a shudder went through Arthur’s body and he bucked as a scream tore from him from the force of his release—Alfred’s jaw went slack and he swallowed quickly to avoid choking, fingers and mouth still moving as the Angel’s body was wracked by his orgasm.

“A-Alfred…Alfred,” Arthur panted once he’d stilled, eyes unfocused beneath half-closed lids.

Gently, the American removed his fingers from the Angel’s body and slid the now soft length out of his mouth before kissing up the still-heaving chest. “Arthur,” he whispered back, a smile on his lips, “you’re beautiful.”

A blush darkened the color that had been fading from the smaller man’s face and he struggled to sit up, finally managing to with the American’s help. “Th-thank you.”

Alfred pulled the Angel to his chest and cuddled him, leaning back against the headboard comfortably. “You’re welcome.”

Moving slowly, the two laid down together, not bothering to pull the blankets over their sweat-drenched bodies. It was too hot for blankets, anyway, and being so close to each other provided plenty of warmth.

“I love you, Arthur,” Alfred murmured, already starting to fall asleep.

“Mm,” the Angel hummed back, eyes closed and even closer to sleep than Alfred was.

Before he finally drifted off, the American placed a soft kiss on the other man’s head and silently prayed that things wouldn’t be awkward in the morning.


	21. Chapter 21

The light flicked on and Alfred instantly scrunched up his face against the pain in his still-closed eyes, mentally cursing at whoever thought it would be a good idea to do something so cruel. God, his head hurt. His mouth felt dry and sticky and there was a bitter taste stuck to the back of his throat, but there was a softer, more pleasant taste, as well. After a few moments, he recognized the taste for what it was and smiled in spite of everything else. He could still taste Arthur.

“Hey, you lazy American bastard, get out of bed. It’s almost one.”

Alfred recognized the voice as Lovino’s and couldn’t help but groan. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, then froze; his eyes snapped open. Arthur was lying between him and the door. And the lights were on. And Arthur was naked.

_Shit._

Before another second could pass, he grabbed the blankets that were draped over his waist and yanked as hard as he could, pulling them up over his own torso as well as making sure that Arthur was covered from his neck down.

From his place in the doorway, Lovino rolled his eyes. “Just get up, _bastardo._ ” Turning, he yelled for someone to get his lazy brother off the couch and into the kitchen so they could have breakfast, and Al heard Antonio laugh from somewhere in the apartment. Next to appear in the doorway was Ludwig.

“Morning,” the German muttered, looking rather embarrassed as he kept his eyes lowered, then he shut the door so Alfred and Arthur could get dressed in privacy.

Now able to relax, Alfred sat up and stretched, causing the blankets to fall back down to his waist. He felt a little stiff in addition to the headache and light sensitivity, but he knew all the symptoms of his hangover would be gone by the time he had to go to work. Still rolling his shoulders, he turned and looked down at the sleeping Angel beside him and a fond smile found its way onto his lips.

“Artie,” he whispered, leaning close and placing a light kiss on the petite man’s temple, “wake up.”

Mumbled words escaped the Angel and he shifted but didn’t wake. Alfred couldn’t help but grin as an idea that he thought was absolutely genius occurred to him. Shifting even closer to the other man, he gently tilted Arthur’s face upwards.

“Come on, my Angel, time to wake up,” he cooed affectionately before pressing his lips against Arthur’s in a soft good-morning-kiss as he let his eyes fall closed. At first, the sleeping Angel didn’t react at all, but after a few moments, Alfred felt pressure being returned against his own mouth and smiled as he continued kissing the smaller blond. Then suddenly the pressure was gone and he opened his eyes to find Arthur staring at him with wide green eyes.

“Alfred?”

“Yeah?”

Sitting up, Arthur scooted away from the American while making sure to keep the blankets over his lower half. “What are you doing?”

Worry settled in the pit of Alfred’s stomach and he frowned slightly. “Uh…waking you up?”

“You kissed me.”

Alfred paused, blinking. He didn’t know what to do. Did Arthur not remember the things they’d said last night? The things they’d done? Pain struck his heart at the thought that the Angel had been too drunk and consequently had forgotten. If Arthur didn’t remember kissing the way they had, and touching each other and the sounds they’d made…then…

“Alfred, why did you kiss me?”

Shit. If he had to ask that, then he definitely didn’t remember any of last night’s activities. Still, Alfred didn’t want to accept it so easily.

“Do you, uh, remember anything about last night, Artie?”

The Angel frowned as he thought about it. “Your friends came over. Feliciano cooked dinner, and we played videogames and sang karaoke and danced, I think. And we were drinking.”

“Anything else?” the American asked, unable to keep that hopeful tone out of his voice.

Several moments passed as Arthur attempted to remember something more. “No.”

_No._

It felt like his heart had shattered in his chest and now the sharp little pieces were digging into his insides. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to cry. He wanted to grab Arthur and kiss him, really kiss him, like he had last night, and not let go until the Angel remembered every single detail of what they’d done. But he couldn’t move, and the longer he sat there, frozen, the more concerned Arthur became.

“Alfred, are you all right?” His brow furrowed, the Angel reached out to feel Alfred’s forehead to see if he had a fever, then waved his hand in front of the staring blue eyes. “Alfred?”

“I’m…I’m fine, Artie.” Finally, he managed to tear his gaze away and slowly turned to get out of bed. “I just have a hangover. I’ll be back to normal in a few hours.”

“Are you sure?”

He got up and went to the closet and began dressing, not paying even the slightest attention to what he was putting on. “Yeah.”

Damn it, _why?_ Why did it have to happen like this? He’d finally found someone he could be happy with, someone he loved and cared for more than he’d ever cared for anyone, something he hadn’t thought he would ever be able to do. After Ivan, after the abuse that forced him to literally run away from home, the thought of falling in love with someone else had seemed like an impossible dream. And then he’d found Arthur in that alleyway, and they’d become friends, and the Angel was so sweet and kind and smart and funny and even a little bit sassy that Alfred couldn’t help but fall in love with him. Even though he knew the petite man probably wouldn’t be around much longer. His wing healed more and more every day—it hardly seemed to bother Arthur at all anymore—and Alfred knew that once he was better, he’d have to leave and go back to heaven. But that hadn’t stopped him from loving the Brit.

In spite of everything, he loved him, and last night he’d finally been able to admit it without hesitating, without worrying that the Angel would reject him. And Arthur had said it back. The Angel actually _loved_ him, and even though they hadn’t had sex, it was still the best night of Alfred’s life. Being with Arthur was, for lack of a better word, perfect. It was better than perfect, and he couldn’t imagine ever being with anyone else. But the Angel didn’t remember any of it, and Alfred had never felt so completely heartbroken. And worse, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Alfred.” A soft hand touched his own and the American looked up to find Arthur watching him with concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Unable to form words for fear that his voice would crack, Alfred simply nodded and lowered his gaze once more.

“You’ve been standing there for five minutes, Alfred. Come on, let’s go have breakfast with your friends,” the Angel urged gently, tugging on Alfred’s hand to lead him out of the bedroom and to the kitchen.

Lovino, Antonio, Ludwig and Feliciano were already sitting around the table, talking quietly as they ate the pancakes someone had decided to make for breakfast. Alfred allowed himself to be guided into one of the two remaining chairs, though he didn’t move to claim any of the pancakes for himself, and he didn’t touch the mug of coffee that had been prepared for him. In his place next to Alfred and once more dressed in over-sized jeans and his favorite of the American’s hoodies, Arthur watched the bespectacled man out of the corner of his eye as he served himself a portion of the food, though he opted not to partake of the coffee.

“Alfred, are you feeling well, _mi amigo?_ ” Obviously worried about the blond man’s unusually quiet behavior, Antonio put down his fork and leaned forward slightly in an attempt to get a better look at Alfred’s face.

“Fine,” the blue-eyed man mumbled without looking up, “just not hungry.”

“Eh? There’s definitely something wrong with him. He’s _always_ hungry,” Lovino interjected, earning a split-second glare from Antonio.

“Ve…are you sick, Alfred?” Feliciano spoke up for the first time since the American and Angel had joined them. “Did you drink too much last night?”

Seizing the excuse that had been presented to him, Alfred nodded and slowly reached for his coffee. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He took a long drink of the hot liquid to avoid having to answer any more questions and was relieved when his friends accepted that explanation for how quiet he was being. It wasn’t like he could outright tell them that he was depressed because the Angel he was in love with didn’t remember the almost-sex they’d had the night before whilst his friends were probably having sex in the next room.

Oh, god. The realization just about made him choke on his coffee and he set the mug down as casually as he could before taking a couple of pancakes and forcing himself to eat. As he chewed, he stole glances at the other males at the table.

Even though they were sitting next to each other, Lovino and Antonio weren’t touching. For Lovino, that was normal, but Antonio rarely managed to keep his hands off the Italian if they were within arm’s reach of each other. The fact that he was holding back his usual affections meant that Lovino was in a particularly sour mood. Having sex in Alfred’s living room while drunk the night before was probably the safest assumption as to why.

As for Feliciano and Ludwig, the German’s eyes were glued to his plate as if he were too embarrassed to look anyone in the face, something that only happened after he’d done something that he considered foolish and shameful. Like getting drunk and screwing his boyfriend on the couch. Sitting beside Ludwig, Feliciano was smiling and seemed to be his usual cheerful self. However, he kept shifting in his chair as if he was uncomfortable, which probably meant that Ludwig had been rougher than normal and left a bruise or two. No wonder the tall blond looked so embarrassed.

 _Oh, that’s fucking_ gold. _All my friends get their brains fucked out in my living room, less than ten feet away from each other, even, and I’m in the next room with a sexy little Angel and I don’t even get laid. And let’s add the cherry on top that Arthur doesn’t remember any of it, so I can’t kiss him or hold his hand or anything. Nothing about this is fair! Nothing!_

Frowning as his irritation at how things were turning out grew, Alfred stabbed his fork into the pancakes with more force than was necessary. This whole thing was pure bull shit. He just wanted to find someone he could actually love and be with, no worrying about being rejected, no having to hide an Angel’s wings from his friends or worry that one day that Angel would tell him he had to leave and would never see him again. Still, he’d be willing to put up with hiding the wings if he could just keep Arthur.

It wasn’t fair, and he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it. Even if he waited for his friends to leave then tried to tell Arthur what they’d done last night, he didn’t know if it would help anything. What if Arthur got mad? He could be embarrassed—it wasn’t as if the Angel was exactly open with his feelings all the time—and while he was okay with cuddling a bit, and didn’t seem to mind kisses on his forehead, what had happened last night was definitely beyond his comfort level. No, telling him probably wasn’t the best idea. Maybe, if Al was patient, the green-eyed Angel would remember on his own.

Alfred hated the waiting game, but he was willing to put up with it for Arthur’s sake.

X

This was going to kill him.

He was an awful person. He didn’t deserve to be an Angel. He could _feel_ how much pain Alfred was in and he could so easily make all that pain go away. Yet he sat there and ate his pancakes as if he hadn’t a care in the world. All he wanted to do was grab the American and kiss him and tell him that he remembered everything, and he was sorry for acting like he didn’t but he didn’t know what else to do because he shouldn’t have done any of that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love him.

_And then you do what, exactly, Arthur? Kiss him every day and tell him how much you love him, do what you did last night as many times as you want even though it’ll never be enough? What happens when it’s time to leave? It’ll just hurt more, Arthur. You can’t do that to him._

It was breaking his heart in half just to be this near to Alfred and feel the taller man’s emotions coming off him in waves. Hurt, definite sorrow and loss and even a little bit of anger. The American was angry that Arthur supposedly didn’t remember what had happened last night. That was the worst part, and he knew how much angrier it would make the blue-eyed man if Arthur admitted that he’d only been pretending. What else could he do, though? He had to leave in less than two weeks. It was easier this way.

“So, how long are you staying?” He turned green eyes on the Spaniard sitting on his left, asking just to ask because no one had been talking and if he didn’t find something to focus on besides Alfred’s emotions then he would go insane.

“Just long enough to clean up from breakfast.” Antonio offered a friendly smile before taking another bite of his pancakes. “We don’t usually drink as much as we did last night, so we all need to go home and recover a little before work tonight.”

Arthur returned the smile as best he could even though he couldn’t help but think that he was the reason the others had been drinking so much. At least he wasn’t going to have to be alone with Alfred for as long if the others planned on staying for a little while. Thinking that way sent a tendril of guilt wrapping around his brain. He shouldn’t be reluctant to spend time with the American just because he couldn’t admit to remembering.

“It’s kind of you to help.” Standing, he took his now-empty plate to the sink and rinsed the syrup and crumbs off it before placing it in the automatic dishwasher, all too aware that his back was now to Alfred’s friends and that there was a chance they’d seen his wings the night before.

_You really wanted to cause yourself trouble, didn’t you._

After drying his hands on a towel, he moved over to the cupboard by the fridge and retrieved one of the boxes of tea that Alfred had bought for him before finding a clean mug and filling it with hot water to steep the teabag in. Rather than return to the table and put himself back in range to sense Alfred, he leaned back against the counter and quietly watched the other men as they finished eating, sipping his tea now and then. By the time his pancakes were gone, Alfred seemed to have cheered up considerably and was even smiling a little, though Arthur suspected that the American was faking it to avoid any more questions from his friends.

Wordlessly, Antonio and Ludwig gathered the dirty plates, took them to the sink and began to rinse them for the dishwasher as Lovino and Feliciano put away the leftovers. It was clearly the same pattern they followed every time they had breakfast together, and as soon as the plates, silverware and cups had been taken care of, the two Italians brought the larger dishes over to the sink. Antonio had already prepared hot, soapy water and began to wash the dishes, handing each one to Ludwig as they were rinsed off, then the German dried them with a towel he’d found in the drawer before putting each item away in its proper place. Lovino and Feliciano worked together to wipe off the counters and table before retreating to the living room to pick up the mess from last night as their companions finished in the kitchen.

Still sipping his tea, Arthur watched them work with a small amount of admiration. In no time at all, it seemed, the apartment was back in order and the four men were getting ready to leave.

“I’ll see you guys at work tonight,” Alfred said almost cheerfully as he held the door open for his friends.

They moved past him one by one, waving and calling their own good-byes before the wind could carry their voices off. It was snowing again and didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon—the wind was so strong that Arthur had to help Alfred push the door shut again once Antonio, Lovino, Feliciano and Ludwig had made their way outside. Immediately, Alfred flopped down onto the couch and picked up the remote to the TV.

“I’m going to shower,” Arthur announced quietly, and waited for the bespectacled man to nod before he went into the bathroom and locked the door behind himself. Slowly, he stripped, dropping his discarded clothes into a pile, then turned on the shower. He set the water to an even hotter temperature than normal, shivering a little as it heated up and steam filled the room. It reminded him of the time he’d written on the mirror.

An urge gripped him and he couldn’t help it. Silently, the Angel went to the counter and reached up, his finger tracing out just two words.

_I’m sorry._

The condensation was cool under his fingertip, and as he stepped back to look at what he’d written, he felt tears beginning to form. Before any of them could fall, he stepped into the shower and shut the door, letting the uncomfortably hot water pour down on him. It burned his skin, turning the pale flesh an agitated red color, but he didn’t care. He liked that it hurt a little.

“Alfred,” he whispered, letting his eyes fall shut as he tilted his head back so the water soaked his hair and dripped down his face, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Cold on his cheeks alerted him to the fact that he’d started to cry, but he didn’t care about that, either. This was something that he wanted to hurt over, wanted to cry over.

“I’m not brave enough, Alfred. I want to be with you, to stay here and live with you and be your lover, but I can’t.” Each word was quieter than the last as he struggled not to start sobbing. “If we make love, and you’re not the one, I…I’d lose my wings…and I’d lose y-you…and I c-can’t do that.”

The tears fell faster now, mixing with the heat of the shower water that he was already starting to go numb to. He could feel his wings quivering and wrapped them around himself in seek of comfort, nuzzling against the soft feathers as a shuddering sigh escaped him.

It was terrifying, this business of being in love. Even though he knew Alfred returned his feelings, it was terrifying. Because Angels weren’t supposed to fall in love with humans. Oh, it happened, but most Angels ignored the feelings until the human they’d fallen for died, and then they moved on. But the Angels that gave in, the ones that formed relationships with their humans and eventually had sex with them…they weren’t Angels anymore after that, but they didn’t get to stay with their humans, either. As much as Arthur loved Alfred and wanted to be with him, he was too afraid of what might happen to him afterwards.

“Coward,” he accused himself, reaching out to brace a hand against the cold shower wall. “Tell him. Tell him why you can’t love him. Just do it. He’ll understand.” But telling a human about Angels, divulging secrets about them, might cost him his wings, as well. Breaking the rules had consequences.

At this point, Arthur wasn’t sure if those consequences would be worse than the pain he felt at lying to Alfred. The tall human had done so much for him and now Arthur was lying to him, hurting him. He’d never felt so guilty, never hated himself as much as he did then. That was why he’d made the water so hot, why he couldn’t help the tears that overflowed onto his cheeks. Because he, an Angel, had fallen in love with a human and had gotten so very close to giving in that he almost expected to lose his wings even though they hadn’t had sex.

Without bothering to catch himself or be careful, Arthur dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands as he began to sob and rock back and forth. He couldn’t do this. Not for two weeks. He couldn’t lie to Alfred for all that time just to leave him. But he didn’t have a choice, and he hated that the most.

His wings hanging limp as the water poured down on him, Arthur struggled to choke out the words he so desperately needed to say, even if the man they were meant for couldn’t hear them. “I-I’m sorry, Alf-fred. I’m s-sorry. I’m s-s-sorry for e-everything.”


	22. Chapter 22

There was obviously something wrong with him. He knew he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do a better job. So far, he’d been putting in the bare minimum effort of forcing a smile whenever one of his coworkers talked to him. But for the most part, he was sitting at the table, not talking, not looking at or interacting with the others. Just sitting there. It was too cold and windy outside for them to go on their patrols, so they were confined to the security office and walking the hallways. Alfred almost wanted to go outside to patrol. It would have been a good way to take his mind off how pointless his life suddenly seemed.

But Ludwig and Antonio would stop him if he tried to go outside because they’d been instructed to remain indoors for the night. He could lose his job if he went outside, and it probably wasn’t worth risking frostbite on his face just to work out some anger by wading through snowdrifts. So he remained where he was, arms folded on top of the table with his chin resting on them as he stared at the wall directly across the room. Antonio was in his usual place watching the monitors. Lovino had been talked into watching a movie on Feliciano’s laptop with his brother and Ludwig. Which meant that Alfred was free to mope for as long as he wanted.

_God, this sucks. I get to be at work with my friends who are all dating each other, then I get to go home and spend all day around Arthur. What am I supposed to say to him? He’s going to know I’m upset, and things could get really awkward if I tell him why. But if I lie to him, he’ll get mad, anyway._

What he wanted to do was go home, shower, put on his pajamas then climb in bed and cuddle the Angel like he would never have to let go. Just hold him. Maybe kiss his forehead. Innocent and sweet and loving because he couldn’t show it while the petite man was awake, so he had to get it out of his system while Arthur was sleeping. It sounded weird and a little bit creepy, but he didn’t care. It was the best he had.

Unfortunately, the best he had wasn’t nearly good enough.

“Alfred, come watch the movie with us,” Feliciano called to him with a friendly smile because he didn’t like how sad the American looked. Alfred barely glanced at the Italian.

“No, thanks, Feli. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’ve been moping all night, _barstardo,_ ” Lovino accused in his usual sour tones. “What’s wrong, didn’t get into Arthur’s pants last night?”

Before Alfred could respond, Antonio spun around in his chair and gave the Italian a rare scowl. “Lovino!”

“What?” He huffed and crossed his arms over his narrow chest. “I saw them this morning. They were lying together and they were both naked. The only reason for Alfred to be so _patetico_ is that he didn’t get laid like he wanted.”

The Spaniard’s scowl deepened and he shifted as if he wanted to get up. “That doesn’t mean you should say it, Lovino. _Es muy grosero._ ”

Lovino rolled his eyes. “I don’t speak Spanish, idiot.”

“Guys,” Alfred cut in when Antonio opened his mouth to respond, “it’s fine. I’m used to Lovino being like this. I’m just…not in a good mood.”

“So it is not about Arzhur?” Ludwig had finally decided to join the conversation. “You seemed very attached to him last night, and I remember zhat he kissed you, but you didn’t touch or talk at all during breakfast. Did somezhing happen?”

Memories of everything that had happened between him and Arthur flashed through Alfred’s mind. The Angel’s taste, how it felt to have Arthur on top of him as they kissed and moved against each other, stroking his wing just to make the petite man that much more desperate, and the sweet little sounds he’d made while Alfred fucked him with his fingers and sucked him off. Such perfect memories that were almost painfully clear.

“No, nothing happened.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue and he had to resist the urge to twist his lips against it. He really hated lying, especially to his friends. But he couldn’t exactly tell them the truth.

“Does Arthur have an angel fetish?”

Panic flooded Alfred at the question and he whipped around in his chair to stare hard at Lovino. “What makes you ask that?”

“Cause when I woke you up this morning, I could’ve sworn I saw wings on him. Did he wear a costume or something?”

“Uh…yeah…he does that when he’s drunk…kind of a nut.” He forced a half smile and a little bit of a chuckle. To his relief, Lovino rolled his eyes and muttered something about “crazy bastards,” which meant he’d believed Alfred’s lie. Well, at least he was managing to keep the Angel’s secret.

“Ludwig, can we watch the movie now?” Feliciano asked, turning his eternally sleepy brown eyes on the German as a way to turn the conversation away from Alfred’s sex life.

“ _Ja,_ we can.”

The Italian smiled and snuggled into the larger man’s side as his brother glared at them and Ludwig hit the play button so that their movie began again. Antonio turned back to the monitors and continued his silent watch now that he knew Lovino would behave himself, at least for the time being.

Free to return to his moping, Alfred pillowed his head on his arms and sighed deeply, his eyes falling halfway shut. He wouldn’t be able to keep up this “just in a bad mood” lie for long because he was rarely ever in a bad mood, and never for more than a day at a time. If he wanted to keep his friends from getting worried about him, then he needed to find a way to cheer himself up, and fast. Maybe he’d go for a walk with Arthur tomorrow, if the weather wasn’t too bad. Or they’d watch movies and drink hot cocoa. That would be nice. It was probably a good idea to check the Angel’s wing to make sure it had set right, too. If anything, he’d just have to keep himself too busy to dwell on his situation.

It wasn’t the best solution, but he was willing to give it a try.

X

Moving slowly, Arthur reached back and began to remove the bandages that had been wrapped around his wing for the last few weeks. It was uncomfortable because the tape pulled at his feathers, but none of them came out, so it wasn’t too terrible. Once he’d gotten the bandages off, he slowly extended the wing and stretched it, watching the way it moved in the bathroom mirror. Everything looked like it was healing properly, and the limb was stiff and a little sore but not overly so. He’d probably be able to fly in just a few days.

As happy as he was that he’d be able to fly again—because really, an Angel that couldn’t fly wasn’t much of an Angel at all—he also dreaded it. He didn’t want to have to leave. Yes, he missed his house and friends and his work, but he knew he wouldn’t be as happy as he’d been before once he’d said goodbye to Alfred. Every fiber in his body knew that he was going to miss the American so much that it would be borderline pathetic, and yet he knew he couldn’t put off returning to heaven. He’d been gone for too long already and needed to return so he could go back to his old life and job. It was just painful to imagine leaving.

Arthur took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. Now was not the time to get all mopey and depressed about something that hadn’t even happened yet. Right now, he needed to test the strength in his healing wing. So, he took another breath before giving his wings a few powerful strokes. His feet left the bathroom floor and he hovered just below the ceiling, flapping slowly to maintain his height. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it wasn’t painful like the last time he’d tried to fly. His guess about being recovered enough to fly home within a few days had been correct.

The knowledge didn’t excite him as much as it should have. Arthur loved flying and had ever since the first moment when he got his wings. Not being able to fly was comparable to torture. Yes, he was looking forward to being able to fly around like he was accustomed to, and not having to worry about aggravating the wound that was almost gone. And the burn from the lightning bolt had finished healing several days ago and was now nothing more than a silvery scar stretching over his back. He’d be good as new in no time.

_I don’t want to go back._

It was stupid, he knew. Of course he knew it was stupid. How could he not? He was an Angel, for heaven’s sake, and he needed to recover so he could go home and go back to protecting humans like he was meant to do. Hanging around on earth any longer than was absolutely necessary was a foolish and risky thing to do. He could be seen, could be found out. Earth was a dangerous place for Angels, especially injured ones. And yet, he still didn’t want to leave, even for his own safety. Because he didn’t feel like he was in danger, not while he had Alfred. The human would do everything in his power to protect Arthur and the golden blond knew it. As long as he had Alfred, he was safe.

“You have to leave when it’s healed,” he told his reflection, giving himself a serious look. “I know it won’t be easy, but that’s not the point. You belong in heaven, Arthur, and he belongs here. Unless you’re going to risk your wings, then the best thing to do is heal up and shove off before you do something you might regret. You know that if he kisses you again, you’ll kiss back. Maybe you won’t be able to stop. Maybe you’ll have sex with him. And then what? Lose your wings? Lose Alfred, forever? No. Better to leave while you can and watch him from heaven, make sure he takes care of himself and lives a happy life, like you did for Francis.”

That was the smart decision. Arthur’s heart didn’t like that option. It had hurt like hell to watch Francis grow old and feeble and eventually die while Arthur stayed young and unchanging beside him. He couldn’t do that again. He _wouldn’t._ But what else could he do?

Ugh, he was such a fool. How could he have let this happen? Angels should know better than to let their emotions get away from them, especially after hundreds of years of being exposed to countless humans while they were at their most vulnerable, feeling all those emotions and helping the humans as best they could. He should have known better than to become attached to Alfred. But when he thought about it, he couldn’t quite remember when it had happened. He just…was. Because Alfred was funny and handsome and loving and sweet and…perfect.

“He’s perfect, and I fell in love with him.”

It felt good to say it out loud, that he loved the American. Even though he was pretending to have forgotten about what they’d done, even though he was going to have to leave soon. He liked saying it. It made him feel like he wouldn’t truly lose Alfred even after he left or after the human died. As long as he had that, the knowledge that he loved him and knowing that Alfred loved him back, he would be okay. He had to be okay.

X

Finally. Nothing had ever looked so welcoming as the front door to his apartment.

“Thanks for the ride.” He tried to sound grateful and cheerful, really he did, but it didn’t come out that way. Luckily, he knew Ludwig and Feliciano would just assume he was tired and still not in the best of moods, so he left it at that and ran from the car to his front door, keys at the ready.

Key in the lock and twist, open the door and step inside, slam the door shut to keep the cold from getting in. Lock the door, stamp the snow off his boots. Use teeth to pull off gloves, untie boots and leave by door. Belt in the closet. Tiptoe into the bedroom so as not to wake Arthur, grab pajamas, and head for the shower.

Alfred let out a sigh of relief once the bathroom door was locked behind him. He was glad to be home—now he could relax without worrying about someone asking him what was wrong. Now all he had to do was shower then go to bed, and Arthur was already asleep so he’d be able to cuddle the Angel like he wanted.

Something that was almost a smile crept onto the American’s face as he turned on the shower then stripped out of his uniform while the water heated up. His shower was quick because he was eager to get to bed, and hot to eradicate the cold that had managed to get to him during his short dash up the sidewalk. By the time he stepped back out of the shower and reached for his towel to dry off, he felt much better. It was when he was rubbing the cloth over his hair that something caught his eye.

There were marks on the mirror.

Without his glasses, he couldn’t make out what it was, so he finished drying off and dressed in his pajamas before putting his glasses on. As soon as he realized what was written on the mirror, Alfred’s eyes widened. Someone had written “I’m sorry” on the fogged over surface, and that someone had to be Arthur because the message hadn’t been there the last time Al had showered, and he was pretty sure none of his coworkers would have written on his mirror. But what was Arthur sorry for? Curiosity urged him to wake the Angel and ask him, but that certainly wouldn’t go over very well—it was barely six in the morning, after all, and no one wanted to be woken up at six a.m. without good reason.

Accepting the fact that he would just have to wait a little while to find out why the Angel had written on the mirror, Alfred gathered his clothes off the floor, left the bathroom—he threw his dirty clothes towards the washing machine—and crept into the bedroom. The sight of Arthur lying asleep immediately made him feel calmer and he couldn’t help but smile a little. He really was too precious.

His smile was still in place as he slipped under the blankets and oh so carefully moved to lie beside the slumbering Angel so that he wouldn’t wake him on accident. Gently, he wrapped an arm around the slim waist and drew Arthur closer, nuzzling into the soft skin of his neck and breathing deeply to capture the Brit’s subtle scent. Like rain and tea, and there was a hint of his own body wash that Alfred found entirely pleasing. He liked that Arthur smelled as if they’d been living together for longer than they actually had. It made him feel like he had some sort of claim on the Angel, even if it wasn’t much of a claim.

Regardless, he enjoyed the way the smaller man smelled and how smooth the pale skin was. The blankets were warm, he was clean and comfortable, and he had Arthur safely wrapped in his arms. Within moments, he’d relaxed completely and couldn’t have gotten closer to the Angel if his life had depended on it.

Just as he’d wanted to do, Alfred placed a soft kiss on the golden blond’s forehead.

“I love you, Arthur. I don’t care that you don’t remember, or that you’re an Angel, or that you have to leave soon. I love you.” The words were whispered so softly that Alfred could barely hear himself speak, and yet he felt immensely better after saying it.

This, this closeness and complete surrender to his emotions, was exactly what he’d needed in order to feel better. He didn’t feel quite so lost now, no longer felt as though he’d been left to stumble blindly after the quickly vanishing opportunity he’d somehow missed with the Angel curled into his chest. Lying there, he knew that Arthur loved him, really loved him, even if he didn’t remember saying it and wasn’t comfortable with openly showing it. It was harder to remember while he was away from the smaller man, but so easy to accept and immerse himself in while so close to him.

But he still wished he could open his eyes that afternoon to find Arthur waiting for him to wake up, with those amazing green eyes looking straight into his own. And he wanted to be able to smile, to touch the Angel’s cheek and pull him into a soft kiss because he’d missed him even while asleep, and to have Arthur kiss him back because he’d missed Alfred, too. He wanted to have lunch together and laugh and be completely at ease without having to hide or pretend anymore. God, he was tired of pretending. So damn tired. If he could have anything, anything at all, it would be to not have to act like he wasn’t in love with Arthur for even another second. Pretending was killing him, slowly and excruciatingly.

Resigned and content for now, Alfred sighed quietly and let his eyes fall closed. If this was all the closeness he was going to get, then he was going to make the most of it.


	23. Chapter 23

“Alfred!” 

The whisper was still loud enough to wake him and he rolled over with a groan, shoving his head under the pillow. Insistent hands began pulling at the blankets.

“Come on, you wanker! I made lunch, the least you can do is get out of bed!”

Holding tightly onto the blankets and with his head still hidden under the pillow, Alfred seriously considered grabbing the Angel around the waist and dragging him under the blankets to forcibly cuddle him and go back to sleep. It wouldn’t be that difficult—Arthur was much smaller than him, after all—but he felt as if that might get him into trouble. Arthur obviously wanted something and it definitely wasn’t to cuddle or he’d have just crawled into bed. Still, it was a tempting option; he decided to save it for a later morning.

“Time izzit?” he asked in order to stall the green-eyed blond, and Arthur stopped trying to rip the blankets away.

“It’s after one. I made lunch, and the storm is finally over.”

That caught Alfred’s interest enough for him to sit up and look at the window. Sure enough, pale blue sky showed between the thin curtains. “We should go for a walk while it’s nice out.”

“That’s why I’ve been trying to get you up!” Arthur sounded more exasperated than Alfred had ever heard him and he couldn’t help but throw a grin at the petite man.

“You’re in a big hurry for an Angel wearing nothing but my boxers,” he commented, and a blush darkened Arthur’s pale cheeks.

“Sh-shut up, git! I just didn’t want to wake you too early by getting clothes!”

“Really.” His grin morphed into a smirk. “Then why didn’t you get dressed before trying to steal my blankets, if you think dressing would have woken me up?”

Arthur’s mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out. What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t very well admit that he preferred to be dressed like this, that he thought jeans were strange and uncomfortable and he only liked to wear hoodies, not shirts. If he said that, then Alfred would tease him about strutting around while basically naked and he didn’t think he could handle that kind of embarrassment. He still had his pride, after all. And he didn’t strut, anyway!

“Because I knew your lazy arse would take forever to get out of bed,” he snapped eventually, then turned with a huff and went to the closet to find something to wear. Behind him, Alfred got out of bed and snuck up behind the Angel before wrapping his arms around Arthur’s slim waist.

“Why’re you in such a bad mood?” he asked softly as the Angel first stiffened then relaxed in his hold.

The comforting warmth helped Arthur to let go of some of his embarrassed frustration and he sighed. “You’re teasing me.”

“I’ve done that before. What’s the _real_ reason?”

_I love you but I’m lying to you about it and I don’t want to leave but I have to and when you tease me about wearing your boxers it makes me want to tease you about wanting to take them off me but I can’t say that because I’m an Angel and you’re a bloody human, you wanker._

“Just impatient,” the Angel lied quietly; he leaned back against Al just a little, trying to memorize the feel of the taller man’s arms and chest. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

Alfred smiled. “It’s all right.”

Then the warmth was gone and Arthur went back to looking through the closet for something to wear for their walk. It was bound to be freezing outside, but Angels weren’t as susceptible to cold as humans were, so he would be fine in jeans and a hoody over a long-sleeved shirt. Alfred was probably going to need that plus a heavy coat, hat and gloves, maybe even a scarf, but Arthur knew he wouldn’t need all that and so dressed as was necessary before going out into the kitchen.

Green eyes landed on Alfred, still in his pajamas, sitting at the table as he sipped his orange juice. It was a sight that Arthur wouldn’t mind seeing every day and he could imagine himself moving to either hug the bespectacled man around the shoulders or even sit on his lap to eat breakfast off the same plate. Normally, he had too much dignity for something like that, but he could imagine himself being like that with Alfred. Part of him wanted to go do it now while he had the chance, but he knew that it would only make leaving that much harder. Leaving was already going to be one of the hardest things he would ever have to do—there was no point in making it worse.

Silent, he took his place on the other side of the table and began to eat, occasionally glancing at the man across from him. He wanted to voice his fears about leaving, wanted to admit that he wanted to stay. God, he wanted to tell the blue-eyed man everything and then work with him to find a way to get around this so that he could stay here with him. But he simply ate his breakfast and held back all those things he wanted to say.

Less than half an hour later, the two blonds had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen. Arthur was waiting—impatiently—by the front door as Alfred got dressed, though he wasn’t as irritated as he normally would have been. The taller man hadn’t bothered to shut the bedroom door and Arthur quickly learned that if he stood just so, he could see into the room. His enhanced eyesight let him observe every little move that Alfred made. He could see the tanned American’s muscles flex and bunch beneath his skin as he stretched; the Angel swallowed rather thickly when flannel pajama pants hit the floor and he let his gaze pass over Alfred’s nearly-naked body as if his eyes alone could devour the blue-eyed man. And then the bastard stretched again, bending over to touch his toes so that Arthur had a perfect view of his backside—he bit his lip to keep from saying something he shouldn’t. The doors to the closet were pushed open and Alfred began rifling through his shirts in search of something to wear and it actually bothered the Angel to think that, in a few minutes, he wouldn’t be able to see that body anymore due to bulky winter clothes.

Why did humans have to be so vulnerable to the elements? It really wasn’t fair.

Teeth still digging into his lip, Arthur silently watched the blond American pull a snug-fitting long-sleeved shirt on over his head. At least it was tight enough to show off how fit Alfred was, but the Angel still wasn’t content with it.

_Stop putting clothes on._

The sight of Alfred had completely driven thoughts of going for a walk from the winged man’s mind—now he’d chosen a pair of jeans to wear.

_Stop that. You wanker, stop!_

This was much more frustrating than it should have been. As an Angel, he was supposed to have perfect self control, yet he was barely managing to contain himself. All he wanted at that moment was to silently enter the bedroom so that Alfred wouldn’t notice him until he was right in front of the bespectacled man. He wanted to look up into those amazing blue eyes and smile just a little, a secretive kind of smile that would make the taller man wonder what he was planning, because what he was planning was sinful and delicious and would take up their entire day.

First, the smile. Alfred’s confused expression would be adorable, and Arthur could so easily imagine going up on his tiptoes to kiss the American. He’d be surprised at first, of course, especially since he thought Arthur had forgotten about the other night, but that wouldn’t last very long before he’d start kissing back. His arms would wrap around the Angel’s waist and pull him closer against that strong chest. Arthur thought he’d slip his hands under the shirt the American had chosen, letting his fingers trace over the muscles while simultaneously lifting the cloth until they had to stop kissing so he could pull it off over Alfred’s head. Kiss his chest and taste the flawless tanned skin to distract him from the Angel’s hands getting rid of those blasted jeans so that the American was back to his previous almost naked state.

“Your turn,” he’d whisper, smiling again, and Alfred would lift him up and place him on the bed as gently as he’d done the night before last. And they’d kiss again but harder this time while skilled hands removed every bit of clothing from Arthur’s body.

Arthur let the memory of how those calloused palms had felt against his own soft skin overwhelm him and couldn’t help but shiver, a small smile curving his lips. That was a sensation he was never going to forget.

“Artie?”

The Angel blinked as his fantasy faded from before his eyes and found that a fully dressed Alfred stood directly before him—it took all he had not to blush at being caught daydreaming. “Yes?”

Alfred smiled even though he looked slightly concerned. “You ready to go?”

Go? Oh, right, they were supposed to be going on a walk. That’s why Alfred had chosen to wear all those blasted layers. Arthur did his best to return the taller man’s smile.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The concerned look faded and Alfred’s smile became more genuine. “Then let’s go.” He put an arm around the Angel’s shoulders and led him out of the apartment, locking the door behind them. They set off in the direction of the park, breathing in the cold winter air. It stung their throats and noses and made their lungs ache, but they both enjoyed it. It was just nice to be able to see the sun.

Luckily, since it was early afternoon, the sidewalks and roads had been cleared of snow, so they made good time getting to the park.

“It’s beautiful,” the Angel whispered as they stepped through the cast-iron gate that separated the park from the surrounding city. Unlike the roads they’d walked, this snow wasn’t dirty from cars and pollution. These sidewalks had been cleared with shovels, not snowplows, and thanks to last night’s storm, there were no footprints marring the pure white blanket that covered what had been green hills. The park was pristine, every tree and bush covered in sparkling icicles, the snow glittering in the weak winter sun. It really was quite beautiful.

And Alfred had eyes only for the man beside him. “Yeah…beautiful…”

It shouldn’t have been possible, but Arthur’s eyes looked even greener than before, and the light reflecting off the snow made his pale skin glow, though that was partially because the Angel glowed, anyway. Highlights in his blond hair were picked out by the sun and shone like newly polished gold—everything about him was perfect. Alfred could only imagine how completely surreal the Angel would look if he was in his prime, like he was before the lightning strike that brought him down to the streets of New York. Arthur in his spotless toga, wings spread wide against the blue sky and even whiter than the snow, wand in hand and glowing halo over his head…that would be a sight to see.

Those green eyes turned to look at him and Arthur smiled shyly. “Shall we?”

Alfred grinned his usual grin and took Arthur’s hand into his own despite the possible consequences; his heart fluttered when he felt the strength of the Angel’s grip on his hand. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Still holding hands, the two blonds started off down the path. They walked the entire network of sidewalks that wound through the hills and trees, stopping every now and then to inspect a strangely shaped icicle or examine how the ice had formed a shell around a tree. It was a lot of fun despite the cold, even though they both grew quiet whenever they encountered a couple or group of strangers who had also decided to walk the park that afternoon.

“I wish this day could last forever,” Arthur sighed as the gate they’d originally come through appeared ahead of them. “It’s too peaceful to end.”

The taller blond squeezed the hand that he was still holding as he smiled. “We don’t have to go back yet.”

Arthur looked up at him, his expression excited and nervous at the same time. “Then…can we…”

“Can we, what?”

“Make snow angels and build a snowman and an igloo and have a snowball fight and get hot cocoa to warm up afterwards?” the Angel blurted out. His face reddened once he finished speaking but he didn’t look away, his thick eyebrows furrowed with determination.

Damn, this guy was freaking adorable for someone who was hundreds of years old.

It was impossible not to share the petite man’s enthusiasm. “Sure we can!” Letting go of Arthur’s hand, Alfred bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, which he patted into the shape of a ball. “Which one do you want to do first?”

His nervousness now completely gone, the Angel turned and began running down the path, faster than any human could ever run. “Snow angels at the top of our hill!”

Alfred grinned. He drew his arm back, aimed, then whipped his arm forward to release the snowball he’d made at the perfect moment. It flew through the brisk winter air before bursting against Arthur’s retreating back, and the Angel yelped in surprise before whirling around to glare at his attacker.

“You git! Only a coward attacks while a man’s back is turned!” But Alfred was nowhere to be seen; he’d slipped into the trees before the snowball had even reached Arthur and had disappeared. Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the treeline for hints of movement—the first snowball had taken him by surprise, but he wouldn’t be caught off-guard again.

Several minutes of still silence passed before Arthur grinned.

“If you don’t come out, you wanker,” he called, knowing his voice would carry, “then you’ll come home to an empty bed when you get off work in the morning!”

Within moments, Alfred’s form separated from those of the trees and he hesitantly approached the Angel, a hurt, worried look on his face. “You mean…you’d leave? For good?”

Shit. He should have phrased that differently because now that Alfred was only a few feet away he was being rammed by waves of the human’s emotions. Worry. Pain. Loss. Even a little bit of betrayal. But he didn’t show that. He just rolled his eyes.

“No, git. I meant that I’d sleep on the couch from now on and you wouldn’t have anyone to snuggle up to at 5am when you get off work.”

That seemed to ease some of the American’s worry because his expression went blank.

“Oh.”

A sigh escaped Arthur and he held out his hand to the other man. “Come on, let’s go make snow angels, love.”

Alfred smiled a little as he accepted the offered hand. “’Kay.” He allowed himself to be led off down the path, his thoughts still in turmoil. It was embarrassing how easily Arthur had managed to subdue him, and that he’d misunderstood the Angel’s threat. Admittedly, losing his cuddle privileges with the petite blond would be bad enough, but when he’d thought Arthur was going to leave, just like that, he’d felt like he was about to burst into tears. He couldn’t put into words how relieved he was that Arthur hadn’t meant that he was leaving. And now the Angel was pulling him along towards “their hill,” and Alfred didn’t ever want to let go of the delicate-looking hand he was holding onto. Never.

They abandoned the path at the bottom of the hill, trudging up through the otherwise flawless snow until they reached the frozen-over bench. The proud tree had shed its leaves for winter and stood bare against the sky, majestic even now, with huge icicles hanging from its snow-coated limbs.

With an excited smile, Arthur let go of the American’s hand and stepped off to the side before dropping down in the snow and lying on his back. He started moving his arms and legs to create the shape of a snow angel, which Alfred found both amusing and ironic.

“You know, I never thought I’d have the chance to see an actual Angel be so excited about making a snow angel,” he commented as Arthur jumped up and began examining his work.

“Humans aren’t supposed to have the chance to see actual Angel’s at all, you lucky wanker.”

Seizing his chance, Alfred quickly grabbed the Angel around his waist and lifted him up, spinning in circles as he held Arthur close. The smaller male shouted his protests but was ignored as Alfred continued to spin for a few more moments. Then, slowly, he stopped and set the Angel on his feet but didn’t let go. 

“I am lucky,” he whispered into Arthur’s ear, voice husky because he was remembering nibbling and licking that perfect ear. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world, cause I have you.”

Arthur felt like his knees were about to buckle, like he was about to melt into a little Angel puddle at Alfred’s booted feet. He was trembling, he knew, even if Alfred couldn’t feel it through all his layers of clothing.

_Bloody hell…do it…like you did last time…please…_

Hot breath on his cheek and neck and ear tortured him with memories of the last time Alfred had whispered to him in that tone. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was using every last ounce of self control to keep from begging the American to kiss him and touch him and—

_Just take me, you git. I don’t care about the rules. I don’t care if I lose my wings. I want you this very instant, on the bench or against the tree or hell even in the snow. I can’t even believe how fucking much I love you. Please. Love me. I can’t make the first move, Alfred. You have to do it. Come on, I can feel how much you want it, you useless bloody human, I can feel how conflicted you are. For the love of God, make me yours._

The pleas raged in his brain, fighting to break past his lips and escape into the cold air. He knew that Alfred would do it, if he asked, and that made it so much harder to resist.

“A-Alfred…” It came out as less than a whisper and he just knew the American had smiled.

“Yeah?”

 _Take me._ “You still have to make a snow angel.”

Disappointment joined the other emotions he could feel coming off the human, a feeling that he understood completely. He was disappointed, too.

Alfred didn’t respond to that. Rather, he let go of the Angel’s waist and silently moved to lie in the snow next to the shape Arthur had left. His arms and legs shifted the snow out of the way with ease and within moments, a snow angel identical to but larger than Arthur’s had formed. When he stood again, Arthur moved behind him and brushed the snow off his back, his hand getting close to but not touching the larger male’s backside even though it was tempting.

“Thanks.”

The Angel did his best to smile and lighten the mood again, quickly grabbing onto Alfred’s hand. “You’re welcome. Can we build a snowman, next?”

A smile appeared on the American’s face. “Yep. We should do it at the bottom of the hill, though, where it’s flatter. That way he’ll stay standing for longer.”

“Okay.” In an attempt to further cheer up his friend and almost-lover, Arthur linked his arm through the taller man’s without letting go of his hand, leaning on him slightly as they made their way back down the hill. He could tell it worked; Alfred’s disappointment and worry began to fade away and were replaced by a sense of contentment. Well, at least he could do something for the American.

They built their snowman at the base of the hill, in a nice flat spot where people would be able to see it from the path. Since this was something that Arthur had never done before, he let Alfred take charge and simply did as he was told. It was a shame they hadn’t been better prepared for this, because then they could have brought a carrot for his nose just like snowmen always seemed to have in the pictures Arthur had seen over the years. The classic snowman was something he’d always wanted to make, but this was good enough. A snowman with Alfred was better than a classic snowman by himself.

“I think he looks good.”

Hands in the pocket of his hoody, Arthur looked over their snowman and nodded in approval. He was well-shaped and would definitely hold together for a few days if nothing came along to deliberately destroy it. “He’ll do.” An arm wound around his waist and he couldn’t help but smile. “Yes?”

“Igloo?”

Arthur took a moment to survey the park around them. “No…I have a better idea.”

Before Alfred could so much as open his mouth to ask what that idea was, the Angel he’d been holding darted away across the open space between where they’d been standing and the trees. Confused, he watched the petite blond stop at the tree-line, crouch down for a moment then stand again with something in his hands. By the time he figured out what was going on, Arthur had already thrown the snowball and it was too late for the American to duck. The snowball slammed into his chest, knocking him back a step as he gasped in shock and a small amount of pain.

Holy fuck, the Angel could throw!

“Damn,” he muttered, rubbing at the spot where the snowball had hit—there was probably going to be a bruise. “I’m gonna get you for that!”

“That was just payback, Alfred,” the Angel called, a playful smirk in place. “The real snowball fight hasn’t started yet.”

Oh, really.

Grinning, the blue-eyed blond scooped up his own handful of snow and began patting it into a proper snowball. “You better start running, Halo-boy!”

Arthur stuck his tongue out at him like a child and Alfred couldn’t help but laugh. Then the Angel was gone, running through the trees as Alfred gave chase. It wasn’t a fair competition, considering Arthur had superhuman strength and speed, but he toned it down to at least give Alfred a chance at catching up. When he heard the taller blond getting close, he made a sharp right turn and ducked behind a bush, quickly making two snowballs. His breath came in light pants and he was smiling—he’d wanted to do this for a long, long time.

“Oh, Artie!”

His name was called in a sing-song voice and he chuckled softly. He could see Alfred following his footprints through the snow and prepared his snowball. Only a moment later, the American stepped around the bush and Arthur leaped back, throwing one of the snowballs as he did so that it hit Alfred’s shoulder. Less than a second later, a snowball struck his own hip and he frowned. How had he not seen the snowball in Alfred’s hand?

“And that makes us even,” Alfred declared, grinning as he brushed snow off his coat. “What score are we going to?”

“Until you surrender.”

The American laughed. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Artie, but heroes never surrender.”

“Then this is going to be a very long snowball fight.”

The two males stared at each other for several moments, trying to intimidate one another without success. Then suddenly, Arthur’s forehead smoothed and he smiled gently.

“Alfred.” He practically crooned the name, one hand held slightly behind his back to conceal his remaining snowball.

Instantly, the taller man’s guard dropped. “Yeah?”

Arthur let a seductive purr enter his voice. “I know you’re a hero, and all…” he trailed a single finger down the front of Alfred’s coat, making the bespectacled man swallow thickly, “but we both know that Angels are heroes, too.” They were so close their noses were almost touching.

“Yeah,” the taller man breathed, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“And, since we’re both heroes,” slim fingers fiddled with the zipper on Alfred’s coat, “then, maybe, we should…”

“Should?”

Green eyes peered up at him from beneath blond bangs. “You know…” He began pulling the zipper down, ever so slowly, loving the way Alfred began to tremble and that those blue eyes were watching his every move. This really was too easy.

“Artie…”

The Angel smiled innocently. “Yes, love?”

“What’re…uh…what’re you doing?”

Oh, he was so precious when he was nervous. It was too bad that Arthur wasn’t doing what Alfred wanted him to do.

His smile went from angelic to demonic. “This.” In one swift, fluid movement, he finished unzipping the taller man’s coat and proceeded to shove his leftover snowball down the collar of Alfred’s shirt so that it broke apart against the skin of his chest, withdrawing his hand again before the American could even register what had happened.

“ _Fuck!_ ” The shout echoed away from them through the trees, probably disturbing the other people in the park as Alfred began frantically pulling at his shirt and shaking himself in an attempt to get rid of the snow. “Damn it, Arthur! That was a dirty trick! Jesus, it’s _fucking cold!_ ”

Arthur couldn’t stop laughing. The taller blond just looked so ridiculous that he couldn’t help it—he was practically doubled over with laughter and there were tears forming under his eyes. “You should have seen your bloody face! I can’t believe you fell for that!”

“Well excuse me for trusting an Ang—!”

“Alfred?”

Both males froze at the sound of the familiar voice, and Alfred slowly turned his head to look in the direction of the speaker; his eyes widened and his jaw went slack.

“I-Ivan?”

Hardly daring to move, Arthur turned and, sure enough, there stood the Russian who had so easily broken his wing all those nights ago. Just seeing those strange eyes made him want to shudder and he had to resist the urge to hide behind Alfred for protection. This was someone he’d been hoping he would never have to see again.

The Russian smiled slightly. “ _Да_ , it is me. How are you?”

Alfred didn’t look like he knew what to say. “I…I’m good. You know, same as always. Uh, what are you doing here?”

A shy look came into Ivan’s eyes and he looked down at his large boots as a pink tinge colored his cheeks. “I am actually on a…a date…”

“A date.” Disbelief colored the American’s tone and he stared at Ivan as if he’d never seen him before. “With who?”

“No one you know,” Ivan assured him with a nervous smile. “I met him at, well,” he glanced at Arthur and lowered his gaze again, “at one of my appointments.”

“Oh.” Alfred’s voice went flat—“appointments” was the term Ivan had applied to his meetings with buyers and sellers when he didn’t want the blond to know what he was up to. “So you’re still doing that, huh. Didn’t even bother to clean yourself up before going out and finding someone else to fuck with.”

Ivan’s brow furrowed and he looked at Alfred pleadingly. “ _Het!_ I cleaned up, I got help. I swear, it was not that kind of appointment. I met him at my therapist’s office.”

Therapist? “Really. You’re seeing a therapist now.”

“ _Дa._ ” Earnest now, Ivan took a step towards Alfred only to have the American grab Arthur by the hand and pull the shorter man close protectively. He made a face like it hurt him to see Alfred so distrustful, but at the same time like he was resigned to having to accept it. “That night when I followed you home from work, and I met him,” he gestured at Arthur vaguely, “I was jealous and angry and I am very sorry for what happened. Please, forgive me. I am not that man anymore.”

“I don’t believe you!” Alfred snapped, his grip on Arthur almost painfully tight. “You told me over and over that you quit doing drugs, that you quit dealing! You promised me you’d stop drinking almost every other day but it never happened! You’re a liar, Ivan, and I don’t want anything to do with you!” Turning, he grabbed Arthur’s hand. “Let’s go, Artie.”

“Wait! Alfred!”

Arthur couldn’t help it—the man sounded so desperate and broken that his instincts kicked in. Despite Alfred’s warning growl, he pulled free of the bespectacled man’s grip and turned back to where Ivan still stood. Slowly, cautiously, the Angel approached the tall Russian and peered up at him with concerned green eyes.

“Ivan.”

Clearly surprised and not entirely sure what to do or say, Ivan simply looked back at the Angel, silent.

“My name is Arthur, Ivan. You broke my wing, remember?”

The Russian opened his mouth to respond but no sound came out, so he closed it again and nodded once. Guilt darkened his eyes and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Arthur’s gaze, though he did throw a nervous glance to where Alfred stood nearby, watching in clear disapproval.

“I forgive you, Ivan.”

It was silent for several moments as the words sank in, then Ivan lifted his head and looked directly into Arthur’s eyes. “…you do?”

A smile softened the Angel’s features. “Yes.”

“But…why…?”

“Because I’m an Angel, and Angels always know what needs to be done. And because I believe that you’re sorry, and I believe that you’re seeing a therapist now.” He turned to Alfred, still smiling. “I can feel it, Alfred. He isn’t lying to you.”

His glare still in place, Alfred slowly moved to stand beside the shorter blond. “What made you decide to see a therapist?” he asked gruffly, and Ivan smiled just because the American had chosen to talk to him.

“I couldn’t find my way home. It took hours. I hurt an Angel, Alfie. A real Angel.” Ivan smiled wistfully. “I didn’t want to be the man that hurt an Angel. I threw out all my alcohol and drugs. I moved. No more using or dealing, no more drinking. Now I have AA meetings once a week, and therapy twice a week, and I work for a construction company because I am strong. I met him at my appointment—he is there for therapy, too. We are good for each other.”

Relaxing somewhat, the American slipped an arm around Arthur’s waist for reassurance, though he didn’t dare smile just yet. “And who is he? You said you’re here on a date—shouldn’t he be with you?”

A shy smile appeared on Ivan’s face. “He is getting us cocoa.” Turning, he pointed back along the path to where a wheeled cart was stopped. There was a man paying for two cups of cocoa, clothed in dark pants, boots, and a thick coat with a hat pulled down over his ears to protect them from the cold. The three of them, Arthur, Alfred and Ivan, waited silently as the man approached with the cocoa. He stopped beside Ivan and handed him one of the cups before turning kind albeit anxious blue eyes on the two blonds.

“H-hello,” he greeted them shyly, offering his hand for them to shake. “I-I’m Toris.” Locks of brown hair showed beneath his hat and he was obviously very skinny despite his bulky clothing.

“Alfred.” He shook the man’s hand, smiling in a friendly way; a look of recognition came into Toris’ eyes.

“I’ve heard a-about you,” he responded, then looked up at Ivan with a shy smile before turning his gaze on Arthur. “Which means y-you’re the A-Angel, right?”

Even though he should have been upset that so many humans knew about him, Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to be upset that Ivan had told his secret—he already knew he could trust this shy man.

“Yes, I’m Arthur.” They shook hands.

“It’s v-very nice to m-meet you,” Toris said politely, blushing when Ivan put an arm around his shoulders.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Arthur responded, green-eyed gaze flicking back and forth between Ivan and Toris. They seemed good together, as Ivan had said.

“Ivan, th-the movie is g-going to start, soon,” Toris murmured after taking a sip of his cocoa.

“ _Дa,_ I know, Tor.” The Russian offered a hopeful smile to Alfred and Arthur. “I will see you again, _дa?_ ”

Alfred hesitated before returning the smile, obviously nervous. “Yeah…we’ll have to catch up sometime.”

It must have been the sort of response that Ivan was hoping for because he smiled broadly and nodded before leading Toris off towards a nearby gate. Green and blue eyes tracked them, watching them until they were out of sight, and then the two blonds looked at each other.

“That was pleasant,” Arthur commented.

“Yeah.” Alfred didn’t seem like he was completely sure about what had just happened. “He looked good, didn’t he? Healthy, I mean. Fit. Happy.”

There was something in his voice that caught Arthur’s attention, a sort of wistfulness that hadn’t been there before. And something similar to regret. He could feel it, too, the curiosity and interest rolling off of the taller man, and his blue eyes were looking at him but weren’t actually seeing him.

“Yes…he did…”

A sense of dread settled in Arthur’s stomach. Dread that Ivan was becoming the man that Alfred had been in love with all that time ago, before the drinking and the drugs. Dread that, now that Ivan was getting better, Alfred’s old feelings for him would return.

No, that couldn’t happen. Alfred loved _him,_ loved Arthur. He’d said it himself, more than once. There was no way he would start to like Ivan again.

“Alfred?” Growing concerned, he touched the blue-eyed man’s shoulder. It took a few moments for him to respond—he blinked twice then smiled—which only worried the Angel further.

“Yeah, Artie?”

Hearing the nickname was a relief and Arthur smiled back at the taller blond, shyly taking his hand. “I’m ready to go home.”

“I’ll make us cocoa when we get there.” Using his grip on the Angel’s hand to lead him along, Alfred began walking back towards the gate they always used.

Cocoa sounded perfect. Maybe they’d curl up on the couch and watch a movie before Al had to leave for work. Have dinner together, too. Like a couple would.

_Don’t think like that. We’re not a couple. We’re friends._

The warmth of Alfred’s hand against his own drew the Angel’s attention and he studied the contrast between his pale skin and Al’s glove. It was soft, warm due to the hand inside of it. He liked the way it felt, and he remembered his mini fantasy earlier about the way Al’s palms felt, but now wasn’t the time to think about that, and he pushed the memory back. But he wanted to think about it, wanted to remember. If he forgot what it felt like to be with Alfred, then he wouldn’t have anything.

_Just think about having hot cocoa, and watching movies, and cuddling on the couch. And then, when he gets home from work, he’ll try to be quiet so that he won’t wake you._

Sometimes, the American was quiet enough that Arthur didn’t wake up, but he usually woke up at least a little bit when the larger man got into bed. There was too much shifting around to stay asleep, and besides, Alfred gave off so much body heat that it was like being wrapped in a heated blanket every time the man hugged him.

Now they were on their way to have cocoa, and probably watch a movie. Then Alfred would leave for work, and Arthur would shower before going to bed. And then, when Alfred got home from work, that was when they could almost, _almost_ be together the way they both wanted to be.

_He’s mine. I don’t care how much better Ivan gets. Ivan has Toris, and I have Alfred. No matter what, he’s mine._


	24. Chapter 24

“Have a good shift,” Arthur murmured, smiling as he was pulled into a warm hug. The scent of the taller man enveloped him and he breathed deeply. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Slowly, Alfred released the Angel and placed a light kiss on his forehead. “I’ll try not to wake you.”

Arthur blushed a little from the kiss but looked up at Alfred through his bangs, meeting those blue eyes. “I won’t mind if you wake me up.”

That earned a grin from the tall blond, then Alfred waved and was gone, the front door shutting firmly behind him. Arthur was at the window in an instant, watching as the American climbed into Ludwig and Feliciano’s waiting car. Luckily, the weather had decided to behave itself for the rest of the evening, though the news said there were supposed to be light flurries in the morning, so Alfred had arranged for a ride. Plus, the low overnight temperatures were dangerous even if it wasn’t snowing.

Sighing, Arthur turned and sat on the couch, his legs crossed under him and his hands in his lap. Green eyes surveyed the apartment—what should he do while Alfred was gone? There were so many possibilities. He could watch TV, or read one of Alfred’s books. There were movies and videogames—though he doubted he’d be able to play a videogame without the bespectacled man around to help him—and Alfred even had a few old board games, plus the deck of cards they’d been playing with after dinner. Or he could take a nice long bubble bath then go to bed early so that he’d be well-rested for tomorrow.

Come to think of it, a bubble bath sounded lovely. Hot, steamy water, bubbles floating lazily on the surface while he lounged against the side of the tub. He could soak his wing, which would almost certainly feel like heaven on the still-tender appendage. And then he’d be perfectly clean and soft for when Alfred got home—

_Ah, no, don’t think about that,_ the Angel cautioned himself before his imagination could get too carried away. He didn’t mind thinking about it, exactly, but he wasn’t proud of how easy it was to imagine being with Alfred.

_If he wasn’t so good-looking and sweet, this wouldn’t be a problem._

That’s what it was. A problem. The American was simply too attractive and sweet and funny for Arthur to ignore.

“This isn’t bloody fair.”

His face morphing into an expression that was half frown, half pout, Arthur slumped down on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. He really shouldn’t be complaining—it was incredibly lucky that he’d gotten to meet Alfred at all—but he couldn’t help it.

_I can’t sit here and mope all night. I should at least do something productive, like see how strong my wing is._

There was little point to that, though, since he’d just tested it the other day, and he really didn’t want to push too hard too soon and end up causing himself further injury. His wing was healing well enough and there was little point in testing it again already.

Videogames? Green eyes drifted towards the TV, examining the blank screen with mild interest. No, not videogames or movies or watching TV, and he wasn’t really in the mood to read, either. He didn’t want to spend his evening lounging on the couch.

“Bubble bath it is, then.”

His mind made up, the blond got up off the couch and wandered into the bathroom. The first thing he did was gather the used towels that had been building up for the last week and throw them out the door towards the washing machine; he could run them through the wash while Alfred slept the next morning. Then he turned on the water and began filling the tub, adding in the soap to create a froth of white bubbles.

Humming, he quickly stripped off the clothes he was still wearing from the walk he’d gone on with Alfred, then turned to the mirror.

“Can’t very well have a bubble bath without a little mirror writing,” he murmured to himself as he climbed up onto the counter. The hard surface was cold against his knees, but he paid it no mind, too busy trying to decide what exactly he wanted to write this time.

A smirk lifted one side of his mouth and he reached out to write with a single finger.

_**Naughty, naughty.** _

It was perfect. Everything about this bath was going to be a bit on the naughty side, so he may as well admit it.

“There’s no such thing as an innocent bubble bath when Alfred F. Jones is around,” Arthur told his fogged over reflection, “and I’m not complaining.”

Still with that smirk in place, he hopped back off the counter then stepped into the bathtub, shivering as the hot water made contact with his skin. It was deliciously warm and smelled of Alfred’s amazing body soap—that was where the woodsy scent came from—and he used that to help himself relax.

_“You’ve been a very naughty Angel, Arthur.”_

His eyes only partially open, Arthur closed the shower door. It was so easy to imagine that Alfred was there, standing just behind him, whispering dirty things in his ear.

_“Don’t you think so, Artie?”_

“Yes…” He imagined work-toughened hands on his shoulders, pulling him back against a warm chest as the water swished around his calves. In his head, he could feel that Alfred was aroused.

_“What did you do that was naughty?” The American’s tongue slipped out, rubbing against the shell of Arthur’s ear so that the Angel let the smallest of moans escape._

“L-Lied to you…”

_“Oh, naughty Angel,” Alfred purred. “Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll go easy on your…punishment.”_

God, he wanted this to be real.

“I remember what we did,” the Angel breathed out, eyes now firmly shut to make his fantasy seem a little more real. “I remember kissing and tasting and touching.”

_“But we didn’t just_ touch, _Arthur. We did more than that.”_

“You fucked me with your fingers.”

_“Yeah.” Arms wrapped around his waist, the larger man’s hands teasingly close to his nether regions. “And you loved it, didn’t you.”_

“Yes.” It was torture, this foreplay his imagination had come up with, but Arthur didn’t care.

_Lips ghosted over his neck and the Angel tilted his head to provide better access to the man behind him._

“Alfred…”

_“Do it.”_

Arthur frowned, confused. “What?”

_“Touch yourself. Fuck yourself with your fingers just like I did. Make yourself whine and moan and beg for me. But don’t cum until I tell you to.”_

_His face turned dark red at the thought of masturbating in front of Alfred._

“B-but…I…”

_Teeth grazed over his skin and he fell silent. “Do it, Arthur. I wanna hear you scream my name as you cum.”_

Swallowing thickly, Arthur nodded and stepped forward so he could lean against the shower wall. The damp surface was cold against the skin of his chest, stomach, and cheek as he pressed against it—it made his nipples harden.

_Hands settled on his hips. “Slowly, Arthur,” came the husky whisper from right next to his ear, “and remember, don’t cum until I tell you to.”_

“Y-yes, Alfred.” It came out as a whine and he heard the American’s chuckle in his head.

_“Go on, Artie.”_

Embarrassed by what the Alfred in his head was making him do, Arthur slowly ran a hand down his own pale chest. His heart thudded beneath his ribs and his breath came in light pants. Yes, he was embarrassed. But he was also aroused.

_“Good boy. Nice and slow.”_

That tone sent a shiver through Arthur’s body and he let his hand slip past his waist. With one gentle finger, he stroked himself, biting his lip to hold back a soft moan.

_“Tsk, tsk, Arthur. I want to hear you. Stop biting that pretty lip and be loud for me.”_

A whine escaped him but Arthur did as he was told. His mouth fell open and he moaned unabashedly as he stroked himself.

“A-Alfred…”

_The American was practically purring. “Yes?”_

“Please…”

_“Please, what?”_

“Touch me,” Arthur begged, his voice echoing slightly in the bathroom. Even to himself, he sounded needy and desperate.

_Alfred grinned and let his hands roam over the Angel’s body, rubbing and stroking and squeezing everywhere except where Arthur really wanted him to._

“Alfred! You git!”

_That made the American laugh before he licked up the back of petite man’s neck. “This is a punishment for lying, Arthur. Did you think you were going to get everything you wanted?”_

His frustration mounting, Alfred let out a growl as he began stroking himself more firmly. To hell with the sadistic Alfred in his head—he was getting his release!

_“Slow down, Arthur.”_

The Angel’s free hand moved to his chest and he rubbed at the hardened nub he found, imagining with all his might that his soft palm was calloused, that it was Alfred’s hand.

“Nn…w-wanker…”

_“I won’t take you if you don’t do as I say, Artie. Slow down.” A kiss was placed just behind his ear as the Angel whined and grudgingly slowed the movement of his hand. “Good. Now, keep stroking yourself—you make such sweet little sounds—but it’s time for the rest. Finger yourself.”_

Arthur bit his lip. He couldn’t help it. Hearing Alfred telling him to finger himself like that nearly drove him mad. Haltingly, he licked his fingers then sent his hand southward, arching his back so that he could reach. It was almost painfully easy to imagine the way that Alfred would hold his hips, grinning that stupid perfect grin, watching as Arthur’s fingers searched for his entrance then found it.

_“Be gentle, Artie.”_

Yes, of course, otherwise he’d be too sore afterwards. Instinctively, he bit his lip as he prepared to insert his first finger, knowing he would cry out otherwise, then forced himself to stop because he knew the Alfred in his head wouldn’t like him to hold back. So he took a deep breath instead.

“Ah! Hah…”

_Damp kisses were placed along his shoulders; he could feel the smile that was curving Alfred’s lips. “Such sweet, sweet little sounds you make, Artie.”_

“Sh-shut up!”

_Alfred chuckled but didn’t say anything, his mouth too busy with biting and sucking on Arthur’s neck for him to speak._

Without holding back any of his sounds, the Angel moved his finger, slowly and gently at the same pace that his other hand was stroking the hardened mass between his legs. Then two fingers.

“F-fuck…hng…A-Alfred…!”

_“Scissor them. Slowly.”_

He did so, a groan sounding deep in his throat as his hips shifted all on their own. “G-god…Alfred, I h-hate you…”

_Smirking, Alfred chuckled and tilted the Angel’s head so that he could kiss him softly. “Liar. You love me, and you love what I’m making you do.”_

Arthur couldn’t argue with that, but his need for his release was building rapidly so he ignored the orders to go slowly and added his third finger, pumping and twisting. His other hand gripped his erection firmly, rubbing and squeezing and teasing the tip as he panted against the shower wall, his breath creating a foggy spot on the cold tile.

_“So impatient,” Alfred whispered teasingly, but he didn’t reprimand the Angel or tell him to slow down again. “You’re sexy when you’re desperate, you know.”_

“B-bloody wanker! _Ah!_ ” He’d found it, that one special spot that made him buck against his own hand as he began working himself frantically. The sounds escaping him increased in volume until he was all but yelling Alfred’s name with every other breath. Without a conscious decision to, his wings flared out until they touched then rubbed together so send a shudder down the Angel’s spine and ratchet his need for release up another notch.

_Rough hands slid up his sides as his chest heaved; he could barely even think now, his mind was so numbed and overwhelmed by the sheer force of his arousal. It was insanity, this insatiable need for more. More pleasure, more touching and more sounds, harder and deeper and faster and—_

“Alfred!” The name was all but ripped from him as he came, and Arthur barely managed to stay on his feet. His knees were shaking uncontrollably, as was the rest of him, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath as shudders and spasms wracked his fragile-looking body. Over and over, he panted the American’s name, leaning heavily on the wall so that he wouldn’t fall down.

_“Good boy, Arthur,” Alfred whispered in his head, smirking. “You’re forgiven.”_

The Angel groaned and rested his forehead on the wall, enjoying how cool it was compared to his heated skin, his eyes falling closed. “Bloody git.”

X

_What the fuck?_

That was his only reaction, the only thing he could think of when he stepped out of the shower. Forehead creasing in confusion, Alfred stared at the mirror and tried to make sense of the words written there. Well, word, technically, repeated so that it was written twice. And it had to have been Arthur that wrote it because who in the hell else would have been in his bathroom?

_That’s it. I’m asking him. Even though I promised I would try to keep quiet so I wouldn’t wake him up, I’m going to wake him up and ask him. Besides, he said he wouldn’t mind if I woke him._

So what if that hadn’t been exactly what the Angel meant? Alfred was tired of finding random messages written on the mirror and not knowing what any of them meant. Come to think of it, he’d never asked Arthur what “I’m sorry” had been all about. Now was just going to have to be the time when he asked about the messages.

His mind made up, Alfred tore his gaze away from the mirror and dressed in his pajamas before leaving the bathroom. With soft footsteps, he entered the bedroom and climbed into bed, moving to lie close to the sleeping Angel.

“Artie,” he whispered, and touched the petite man’s hand. “Wake up.”

The Angel stirred slightly, eyes cracking open to peer at Alfred in confusion. “Hm? What…?”’

“Why do you keep writing on the mirror?”

It took a moment for the question to sink in, then Arthur’s eyes widened in alarm. “Shit,” he muttered, covering his face with his hands and curling up into a ball as if that would cause him to turn invisible.

Silent, Alfred waited for several seconds to see if the Angel was going to do or say anything to explain himself. When Arthur failed to move, the American gently gripped the smaller man’s wrists and pulled his hands away from his face so that they were looking each other in the eye.

“I found two of them, Artie. What are you sorry for? And what the hell is ‘naughty, naughty’ supposed to mean?”

The Angel seemed to shrink under his gaze, as if he’d rather disappear forever than answer Alfred’s questions.

“I…I…”

He couldn’t stand to see Arthur so nervous. Yeah, he wanted to know why the Angel had been writing on the mirror, but he still hated that Arthur looked genuinely afraid. It was never a good thing for Arthur to be afraid. In an attempt to calm the smaller blond, Alfred pulled him against his chest and cuddled him, stroking the back of his head as his other arm wound around the Angel’s waist.

“You can tell me. I won’t get mad, I promise.”

Silence followed his words as he felt Arthur huddling and pressing closer in seek of comfort that he obviously needed.

“You weren’t supposed to see them.”

The words were muffled but understandable, and Alfred held back a sigh. “Why not?”

“They…they weren’t for you.”

“But what do they mean? What are you sorry for?”

Arthur bit his lip, hesitating. “I…had a dream about Francis. It made me feel guilty.”

All right. Alfred could understand that, at least. “And the second one?”

No answer came this time and for a moment he wondered if the Angel had fallen back asleep all of a sudden, but he could feel Arthur trembling slightly and so knew that the was still awake.

“Artie?”

“It’s embarrassing,” the Angel mumbled, his face growing warm against the skin of Alfred’s shoulder.

Alfred couldn’t help but smile a little as he ran his fingers through the Angel’s silky-soft hair. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, Arthur. I’m not going to get mad or make fun of you or anything like that. I’m just wondering why I come home and shower and find these messages on the mirror.”

“I know,” Arthur responded quietly, though he didn’t sound particularly convinced; Alfred pulled away from the smaller man, putting just enough space between them that he could kiss the Angel’s forehead.

“I promise I won’t judge you in any way.” Sincere, he smiled as he looked into those amazing green eyes. Arthur looked back at him, still biting his lip in a worried fashion that made Alfred want to kiss him right then and there. Soft and sweet to chase away the Angel’s fears and make him feel safe. He didn’t, of course, because that would probably only upset Arthur even further.

Several moments passed before Arthur finally started to relax and nodded. “Okay.”

A smile brightened Alfred’s features and he rested his forehead against the other man’s in an affectionate sort of way. “So, what did you mean by ‘naughty, naughty’?”

“I…” Arthur’s cheeks were quickly turning a dark shade of red, “I was…um…”

There were so many possibilities as to why Arthur had chosen to write “naughty” on the mirror that Alfred kept his mouth shut jus to avoid saying the wrong thing. He really had no interest in making this harder for the Angel and could only imagine how awkward he would feel if someone was asking _him_ about this.

“You were…what?” the blue-eyed man encouraged, his smile still in place.

Arthur hesitated again, fidgeting with the blanket that covered them both, then hid his face in Alfred’s shoulder. “I was aroused.”

Ah- _hah!_ He’d been right!

“So…why’d you write it on the mirror?”

“You know why!” Arthur burst out, though his voiced was muffled again because of how close together they were.

Yeah, Alfred knew. It was way too easy to imagine what sort of things had been running through the Angel’s mind while he wrote that simple yet provocative message. But he didn’t say any of the things he was thinking of. Instead, he placed another kiss on Arthur’s forehead then hugged him comfortingly.

“I get it. You don’t have to be embarrassed, ‘kay? I don’t care, as long as you don’t make a mess or anything like that. It’s not like you could help it.”

That seemed to relax the Angel a great deal because he nodded before snuggling into Al’s chest, and within moments he was fast asleep once more.

“Good night, Artie,” Alfred whispered, smiling fondly as he held the Angel close. It wouldn’t be long before he’d drift off, too, and he had the feeling that he was going to sleep pretty well.


	25. Chapter 25

He didn’t want to move. He was too comfortable, too warm and content to move. It would have been perfect to lay there forever.

_Could be better…if he was awake…_

Yes, but it was too early for Alfred to be up. It was only about nine in the morning, after all, so the blue-eyed man would be asleep for around four more hours. Which meant that Arthur had four more hours to dedicate to spending as much time with Alfred as possible.

First, however, there were two things the Angel wanted to take care of.

Moving carefully, he disentangled himself from Alfred’s embrace and slipped out of bed. On his tiptoes and without bothering to get clean clothes, the Angel left the bedroom and went straight to the pile of towels sitting by the washing machine. This was going to be tricky. Even though he’d seen Alfred do this more than once since he’d first arrived at the human’s apartment, he had never started the machine on his own. An investigation found instructions on the inside of the lid, which he read through twice before actually following them.

First, distribute the load evenly in the machine—towels, check. Second, measure out the proper amount of detergent. That took him a while to figure out. How was he supposed to know how much…detergent…to put in? He didn’t even know what detergent was. He did, however, remember seeing Alfred take a large jug of some blue liquid out of the cupboard, so he found that jug and discovered that the lid was also used as a measuring cup.

“How do humans come up with these things?” It was actually a little brilliant, and he carefully poured the blue liquid into the cup to the “Medium Load” line. 

The third step was to pour the detergent on top of the load, which was definitely the easiest part. He was supposed to close the lid after that, but he made sure to look over the last few steps about the machine settings before he did that. Then it was just a matter of twisting the large knobs and pushing a button; with a shudder, the machine came to life, and Arthur smiled in pride that he’d managed to do it by himself without destroying anything. That was the last thing he wanted, was to destroy one of Alfred’s things.

Satisfied with his success, he wandered into the kitchen for some breakfast, though he wasn’t hungry enough to actually cook something for himself. Unfortunately, the winter season meant there was no fresh fruit in the fridge, so he ended up making toast with butter. The toaster, at least, was something that Alfred had taught him how to use, though it still made him jump a little when the bread suddenly sprang up.

So he sat at the table and munched on his toast, sensitive ears picking up each and every sound in this seemingly silent winter-locked apartment. He could hear kids playing outside, probably having a snowball fight—the sounds of their laughter was enough to bring a smile to his lips. Far more sounds came from within the apartment, like the constant hum of the refrigerator. Soft _ticks_ came from the clock on the living room wall. Of course, he could also hear the washing machine with its load of towels swishing in soapy water. His own chewing and the crunch of his toast were definitely the loudest sounds, but his attention was drawn to something else.

In the silence, Arthur only had to tilt his head and concentrate in order to hear Alfred breathing in the bedroom. They were slow, deep breaths, steady and strong. It was easy to imagine how the American’s chest rose and fell, and though he couldn’t quite hear Alfred’s heartbeat, he knew the _ba-bump_ would be there if he were to press his ear to the larger man’s chest. That was something he could always count on.

Once his toast was gone, the Angel cleaned up after himself just the way he’d been doing ever since he figured out the sink and where the dishes were supposed to go. This process felt tedious after living in heaven and using magic for so long, but it reminded him of housekeeping and chores from before his time as an Angel. Not having magic was kind of…nice.

His few dishes only took a couple minutes to wash and put away, and when he left the kitchen, it was just as clean as when he’d first entered it that day. Content with his breakfast and still proud of his success of washing the towels, Arthur moved to stand in the doorway of the bedroom. Alfred’s sleeping form was a visible lump on the bed, wrapped in the blankets. It seemed he’d rolled over since Arthur got up, so his back was to the door. One shoulder was uncovered, a piece of flawless sun-kissed skin that Arthur found to be rather inviting.

The Angel moved silently, crossing the room and climbing onto the bed. He sat beside the slumbering American, green eyes locked on that shoulder. Slowly, slowly, he leaned closer and placed a feather-light kiss on the warm flesh, and his eyes fell closed as he pulled away again.

If only he could do that every morning for the rest of eternity.

A longing sigh escaped him and he lay down, slipping under the blankets before wrapping his arms around Alfred’s middle and burying his face in the American’s back. He could feel the taller man breathing, felt his heartbeat vibrate through his entire frame. This, this right here, was as close to perfect as Arthur thought he could get.

“Love you, Alfie,” he mumbled into the blankets, arms tightening just a little. “Always.”

X

When Alfred woke, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t alone in his bed. He’d gotten used to the routine of coming home to a sleeping Arthur, going to bed, and waking up to a brunch prepared by the Angel. It was nice to not have to cook all the time, though if he had to choose, he’d take waking up next to the petite man over food any day.

As carefully as he could, he turned in the Angel’s arms until he was face-to-face with him. He looked so peaceful while he was asleep, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with the world. Lifting a hand, he brushed golden bangs away from a pale face and kissed the petite man’s forehead. A breath against his neck made him pull away to find green eyes looking up at him.

“Hey,” he whispered, smiling.

“Morning,” the Angel replied softly. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine. You?” Still with his smile in place, he slipped his arms around the smaller male and held him close, staring into his eyes.

A blush colored the Angel’s cheeks to feel himself being pressed up against Alfred. “Well enough.”

They were quiet as they looked at each other, examining every detail of the others’ face.

He’d never noticed before that there were little marks on the bridge of Alfred’s nose from where his glasses sat. They were small, barely noticeable, but he wanted to touch them and see if he could rub them away. He wanted to memorize the different shades of blue in the American’s eyes, run his hand through the ash blond hair and feel it slide between his fingers, thick and soft. Alfred’s lips beckoned for a kiss, promised to be gentle and loving and to sweetly whisper things that no one else should ever hear.

If only that was true.

Had Arthur’s lips always been that shade of pale pink? It was almost the exact same color as the blush that was still visible, perfect against the creamy color of his skin. God, he was flawless. Even the scars that Alfred knew the Angel bore were beautiful. Nothing could take away from how perfect he was in Alfred’s eyes. He was so small, so delicate and deceptively slender. That only made how strong he was that much better, though. As fragile as Arthur appeared to be, Alfred saw strength in the set of his jaw, the way he carried himself, and in those eyes that put emeralds to shame. Yes, Arthur was beautiful, but he was so much more than that. He was also fiercely protective, loyal, forgiving and loving and funny, smart—no, brilliant—and…everything. He was everything.

 _Sap,_ Alfred accused himself, but there was no bite to it. Yes, he was a sap, but he was also in love with this perfect Angel who glowed even in the darkness of the bedroom. The glow wasn’t usually very noticeable; it was faint and didn’t stand out. At this moment, though, lying so close to him in the gloom, his glow seemed stronger than ever.

“You’re beautiful,” the American breathed as he placed a hand on Arthur’s face and stroked one pale cheek with his thumb. Arthur’s blush darkened at the word and Al could feel the heat of it against his hand, which only made him smile fondly.

“Am not,” came the mumbled reply as Arthur lowered his gaze shyly, and Alfred chuckled before kissing the Angel’s nose.

“You are.”

The Angel shook his head, face growing even warmer as he attempted to hide the blush by pulling the blankets up to cover his head. Laughing, Alfred allowed the smaller man to do so only because it gave him the opportunity to wrap Arthur up and hug him tightly.

“You’re beautiful and nothing will ever convince me that you’re not,” he whispered, putting his mouth by where he knew Arthur’s ear was.

“Sh-shut up, wanker.” The response was mumbled but he knew Arthur was smiling as he said it, because despite all his protests, he knew the Angel enjoyed the compliment.

“Make me.” His tone was playful as he squeezed the man in his arms, and he chuckled when Arthur sputtered an incoherent response. “What was that?”

“You’re crushing my wings!”

Immediately, Alfred let go of the smaller man and pulled the blankets away from him, fearful that he’d hurt the Angel. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?” Before he could take a breath to ask another question, Arthur lunged at him and pinned him back on the bed.

_Ohhhhhh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

It was kind of impressive how quickly his mind went to the gutter, though it wasn’t surprising considering that Arthur was now holding his wrists down by his head while straddling his waist. And, as always, he was wearing those damned boxers that barely managed to cling to his hips tight enough not to fall down. They were patterned as the American flag, which made Al want to laugh because the Angel had been British during his life and so the boxers were sort of ironic. Alfred kind of liked it, though.

“You’re a bit gullible, aren’t you.” The Angel was grinning, his hair mussed from having the blanket over his head. It was a struggle not to smirk and say something sexual or teasing, especially considering his current…position.

Hiding his sudden almost-aroused state, Alfred rolled his eyes. “Well excuse me for trusting an Angel. Sort of figured you guys had to be honest or something like that.”

Arthur chuckled and shifted a little, seeming unaware of what that slight friction did to the American beneath him. “Honesty isn’t exactly in the job description. It’s not a requirement, either.”

_Don’t do that! Don’t move! Ah…shit…how do I…? What am I supposed to do!?_

This was not good. This was the opposite of good. If Arthur moved again then Al wasn’t going to be able to help it and then Arthur would get pissed. That wouldn’t end well for anyone.

“Then what exactly do Angels _do?_ If you’re not pure, honest beings or whatever.”

Releasing the American’s wrists, Arthur crossed his arms over Alfred’s chest and rested his chin on them so that he was essentially lying on top of him while still straddling his hips. It was a conflict for Alfred; he couldn’t decide if he liked this situation or not, though he knew it probably wasn’t a good one.

“I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

Green eyes rolled. “Because humans aren’t supposed to know, you git.”

“C’mon, Artie, who am I gonna tell?” He put on the best puppy eyes he could manage, looking up at the Angel pleadingly.

For a moment, Arthur stared back at him musingly. “We save you.”

“Me?”

“Humans. We save you. Children, mostly, though we save adults, too. But adults are tricky, so there’s a special group of Angels that are assigned to adults. I only work with children.”

“Oh.” The temptation to shift and get more comfortable was strong but he resisted with everything he had, distracting himself by lacing his hands behind his head and using them as a pillow. “So that’s why you got struck by lightning. You were here to save some kid and didn’t make it back to heaven.”

A sadness came over him and Arthur turned his face away, his cheek resting on his arms. “Yeah.”

In an attempt to comfort the petite blond, Alfred took one hand from under his head and ran it through the blond’s hair. “I’m glad I met you, Artie. Even though you got struck by lightning, and then Ivan hurt you, and you miss your friends and your home, I’m glad I’m the one who found you in that alleyway.”

The smallest of smiles made an appearance as Arthur looked back at Alfred. “Me, too.” He hesitated for a moment, green eyes clouded by a swirling mixture of emotions, before he slowly started to lean closer. And closer.

_Is he gonna kiss me? No, no way. He doesn’t remember. Definitely not gonna kiss me. There’s no way he’s—_

Blue eyes went wide as Arthur’s fingers curled against his chest and soft lips pressed against his own. The Angel’s eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed pink. When Alfred didn’t move or return the kiss, Arthur opened his eyes slightly and pulled away.

“Please, Alfred,” he whispered, sounding as if he might shatter at any moment.

There was no way.

Alfred hesitated. He blinked several times, hardly daring to believe that the Angel was serious. “You…you mean…?”

Nodding, Arthur pressed even closer to the taller blond and closed his eyes. This time, Alfred didn’t hesitate. His hand stilled on the back of the Angel’s head and he used it to pull Arthur closer, kissing him softly. Instantly, Arthur’s hands left where they were curled against his chest and slid up until his arms were wrapped around the American’s neck so he could pull himself even closer to him. Alfred’s arms went around the Angel’s waist, forcing him to move his hips to create friction; a soft whine escaped the petite blond.

“A-Alfie…”

“Shut up.” Rolling, Alfred pinned the smaller man beneath him and kissed him more fully, though he stayed gentle. Hands tangled in his hair and a knee was hooked over his hip as Arthur tried to pull him closer, tried to get more contact, and Alfred readily obliged. His hand slid up the Angel’s side, making the smaller man arch and gasp so that Al could take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. The taste he’d been craving for days was finally his again and he let Arthur’s name out on a sigh, pressing his forehead to the Angel’s and staring deep into his eyes. Arthur’s face was a dark red color and he was panting lightly, looking up at Alfred through the bangs that had fallen over his eyes.

“God…you really are beautiful…”

The Angel’s blush darkened even farther and he looked down shyly until Al tilted his chin up and kissed him softly.

“And you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.”

“Git,” Arthur muttered, though he made no move to pull away or put space between himself and Alfred.

Chuckling, Alfred kissed him again, his hand sliding from the smaller man’s chin to cup his cheek as Arthur willingly granted entrance to his mouth. They kissed for several minutes, holding each other close, until they both had to break away in order to breathe. Once again, Alfred found himself staring into those eyes as if nothing else existed anymore.

“Artie…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t understand. I’m not complaining, but…why…?”

Uncomfortable now, Arthur hid his face in the taller man’s shoulder. “Because I love you.”

Alfred couldn’t help but smile. After thinking for days that the Angel had no recognition of his feelings, Arthur had, fully awake and sober, admitted to loving him.

“I love you, too.”

He smiled and hugged the Angel, being careful of his wings as Arthur snuggled against his chest. This was bliss, this was all he was ever going to need, was Arthur being open and honest with him, and being close to the Angel without worrying about giving himself away. No more worrying about hiding how attracted he was to him, or pretending that he was okay with the thought of Arthur leaving and going back to heaven. None of that mattered anymore because now he knew for absolutely certain that Arthur loved him.

“Alfred?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

A chuckle escaped him and Al ran a hand up the Angel’s back, making him shift a little closer. “We have to get out of bed if we’re gonna eat.”

The Angel gave a disgruntled moan and pulled the blankets over his head once more; Alfred laughed and sat up.

“All right, you stay here and be lazy. I’ll make brunch them come get you, ‘kay?”

Without uncovering his head, Arthur nodded his agreement to the proposition and Alfred leaned down to kiss the cloth-covered Angel’s face before he got off the bed. He whistled as he walked into the kitchen and began pulling out everything he’d need to make a meal for the two of them.

The two of them. Perfect.


	26. Chapter 26

He couldn’t believe it. There he was, sitting at his kitchen table, eating breakfast with Arthur firmly settled on his lap. Every other bite went to the Angel as they shared a large plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, taking turns with the fork. Alfred had his left arm wrapped around the smaller male’s waist as Arthur leaned back against him. Every now and then, he paused to nuzzle the pale neck before him, and each time he did, Arthur would tilt his head to provide better access to the American as he sighed or hummed.

“Al...”

“Hm?” The bespectacled blond smiled without bothering to pull his face away from the soft skin. It was practically begging him to kiss it, so he did, letting his lips part slightly so that Arthur felt his breath; the Angel shivered.

“Are you done eating?”

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, placing a second kiss on the Angel’s neck. “Maybe.”

The smaller man shifted but didn’t move away. “Are you still hungry, then?”

“Yeah,” a smirk curved his lips, “but not for food.”

Stiffening, Arthur sat up straighter so that his neck was no longer in range of the mouth that had been about to bite him, then got up and put his hands on his hips, scowling at the blue-eyed man.

“You’re a real arse, Alfred F. Jones. I tell you I love you, and you immediately start making sexual comments. Tactless git,” he huffed, then abandoned Alfred to clean up from breakfast on his own and went to sit on the couch in the living room.

Amused, Alfred watched the petite man, still smirking despite the scolding he’d just received. So what if he was being a little tactless? Arthur wasn’t always the politest guy around, either. Besides, he wanted a day when he could be silly and cute with the Angel and maybe a little perverted but honestly, who could blame him? The golden blond still hadn’t bothered to put real clothes on, and it had been his idea to sit on Alfred’s lap. It wasn’t the American’s fault that he’d been so tempted.

“Hey, Artie.”

“What?”

Slowly, the taller blond stood up and stretched, fully aware of the green eyes that were watching him—he hadn’t put on a shirt, and his pajama pants rode low on his hips. “Mm…” A lazy grin slid into place as he, still stretching and flexing, moved into the living room to stand before where Arthur sat. “You already tired of cuddling?”

Arthur’s face had gone pink and he found he couldn’t look away from the body in front of him no matter how hard he tried. No, he wasn’t tired of cuddling, but there was so much more that he wanted to do with that body that he didn’t think he could be satisfied with just cuddling at this point.

“I don’t think cuddling’s what you’ve got in mind,” he commented softly, finally managing to look up and meet those insanely blue eyes. There was a hungry sort of heat in them, a heat that made him want to shiver again without even being touched.

“You don’t?” Somehow graceful and effortless at the same time, Alfred settled next to the Angel with an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “Then what d’you think I’ve got in mind?”

They stared at each other, Alfred still grinning, his glasses farther down his nose than usual so that he was looking over them at the Angel in a way that was sexier than it had right to be, and Arthur, wide-eyed and flushed as he sat half curled in a ball, unfairly turned on by the muscle display he’d just witnessed.

“Hm?” Reaching out, Al traced the edge of Arthur’s jaw with one finger, ending at his chin so he could tip the Angel’s face up until their lips almost met. Almost, but not quite. So painfully close that Arthur actually had to struggle not to whine and close the gap himself, and he and Alfred both knew it.

This really wasn’t fair. He’d been struggling with his feelings and hiding them for days, and now that he’d finally admitted how he felt, the damn American was teasing him! Bloody taunting him with those eyes and that mouth and that body!

“Wanker,” he growled before finally shifting forward so that his mouth met Alfred’s. The American chuckled, grinning into the kiss as his arms snaked around the smaller man’s narrow waist.

“You love me anyway.”

Another growl was the Angel’s only response, though he continued to kiss the larger man as he climbed into his lap and settled comfortably with his knees on either side of Alfred’s hips. It was a vulnerable position, one Al could easily take advantage of, but Arthur knew that. He wanted that.

Deepening the kiss, he arched until his chest was pressed against Alfred’s and wrapped his arms around the American’s neck. As he’d known it would, one of the arms around his waist shifted and a hand slid down until it cupped his backside.

He purred softly as he began to pull away from Alfred’s mouth, taking the time to pause and suckle that lower lip for a moment as he did. Alfred leaned with him, not wanting the kiss to end, but Arthur put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, smirking playfully.

“I can’t have sex, Alfie,” he murmured, tracing circles on that tanned chest as he looked up at the taller man through his bangs, “but…I can do everything else…”

The American smiled and leaned down to kiss the Angel’s nose. “I know, Artie. It’s okay. We can do whatever you want.”

Whatever he wanted. He was going to have to think about that; there were so many things he wanted, after all. It was quiet as he considered his options, then he pressed his forehead to Alfred’s, looking deep into those blue eyes.

“Love me,” he commanded gently, a small smile curving his lips. “Love me like you do in my dreams.”

“You dream about me?” Alfred couldn’t help but ask, grinning at the thought. Arthur nodded, cheeks turning a light pink, and Alfred chuckled before kissing him softly. “Good.”

The kiss continued, Arthur’s hand curling into a fist against the American’s chest, his other arm tightening around his neck as the hand on his rear began to rub slowly. It squeezed and Arthur gasped, providing the perfect opportunity for Alfred’s tongue to slip into his mouth. He tasted tea and honey, the flavor he’d been craving for days, and he hungrily explored every angle, curve and bump of that mouth as if this was the last time he would have the chance to experience it. Arthur’s chest heaved, pressing against Alfred’s as both men fought for air without breaking away from the kiss. Eventually, though, Arthur began to feel light-headed and broke away, staring at Alfred as a thin string of saliva connected their mouths.

Silent, Alfred lifted his free hand and stroked the Angel’s cheek. Just looking at that pale, narrow face, those impossibly green eyes and mussed golden hair made his heart want to burst with joy. Arthur was _his._ Arthur _loved_ him, and if he had nothing else, knowing the Angel loved him would be enough.

“I love you,” he whispered, smiling slightly. “I love you so much, Artie.”

A pale hand covered the one on Arthur’s cheek and the Angel pulled it off his face so he could kiss the American’s palm, lips soft as silk. “I love you, too, you ridiculous American.”

They smiled at each other, still a little out of breath from the kiss they’d shared, Arthur blushing lightly as Alfred’s hand continued to slowly rub the Angel’s backside.

“I wanna make love with you, Artie,” he said quietly, smile saddening just a little, “but I know we can’t. So let’s do the next best thing, yeah?”

Leaning close, Arthur placed a kiss on the tan American’s neck, once more tracing circles on his chest. “What did you have in mind, love?”

The hand on his backside moved up slightly until Alfred’s thumb hooked onto the waistband of the boxers the Angel was wearing. Slowly, he tugged them down as Arthur followed his lead, going up on his knees so that the fabric easily fell away from his hips. His blush darkened and he hid his face in the crook of Alfred’s neck as the American worked to remove the boxers completely—they made barely any sound when they hit the floor. Gentle strokes on his hips made Arthur tremble as the Angel bit his lip.

“Al…”

“Hm?”

Almost nervous, Arthur reached down and began to tug on Alfred’s pajama pants. The American chuckled and lifted his hips so the pants could be pulled down, inadvertently pressing up against Arthur’s naked flesh. Gasping softly, the Angel arched his back and looked at Alfred with wide green eyes, heat pooling in his belly even from that small amount of pressure.

“Sorry,” Alfred muttered, quickly removing his pajama pants and boxers so that he could sit comfortably again.

Still tense, Arthur shifted so he was straddling the larger man’s lap, his gaze averted in shy embarrassment to be naked in broad daylight the way he was. Only when a strong hand cupped his cheek and turned his face back to lock eyes with Alfred did he begin to relax again, lost in those pools of blue.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Artie,” the ash blond soothed, smiling. “You’re beautiful. Perfect. I love you, and when I say that, I mean I love all of you, from your glowing skin to your emerald eyes to your sleep-tousled hair and your bushy eyebrows.” He laughed at the last part, though Arthur lifted a hand and covered his eyebrows self-consciously, silent. Immediately, Alfred pulled the Angel’s hand away and leaned forward to kiss one eyebrow then the other, not noticing the way Arthur stiffened and shuddered.

“Even your bushy eyebrows,” he repeated seriously, looking directly into Arthur’s eyes. “They’re part of you, Artie, and there’s not a thing about you that I would ever change.”

Arthur didn’t look like he fully believed the American. “But…what about…?” Trailing off, he silently spread his wings so Alfred could see them, and the ash blond smiled.

“What, you think you being an Angel makes any difference about how much I love you?”

“We can’t make love because of it,” Arthur whispered, chin tucked in as he looked up at the taller man apologetically. “If I was human, we could.”

Tears came to Arthur’s eyes at the words and he couldn’t help but think that this was entirely unfair to Alfred. It really was. He was being so selfish, giving into his feelings for these few days when the safe thing to do would have been to continue pretending. The human was so perfect that it was almost tragic.

“You’d make a great Angel, Alfred,” he said quietly, looking at the blue-eyed man with tears in his green eyes even as he smiled. “You’d make the best bloody Angel there ever was.”

The compliment made Alfred grin and he kissed the Angel before him, gently wiping at Arthur’s tears. “Thanks, Artie.”

Rather than reply, Arthur simply pressed as close to the tanned American as he could, deepening the kiss in his desperation to get even closer. Alfred didn’t complain, one arm winding around that narrow waist as his other hand slowly travelled down Arthur’s pale torso. The Angel shivered, hips lifting slightly in invitation.

Gently, Alfred touched him and was rewarded with a small gasp as Arthur’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He stroked, slowly at first to coax the smaller male’s member to life, then faster until Arthur was moaning and trembling as he clung to the American. Only when he knew the Angel was close did he stop, and then Arthur whined in protest.

“Alfred!”

The American chuckled and kissed the man seated on his lap. “Just wait. I have an idea.” Then he leaned back against the couch and reached between his body and Arthur’s until he found his own length. As soon as he touched himself he let out a groan, and Arthur’s eyes widened.

“What’re you—?” A glance down was all the answer he needed, and then he looked between Alfred’s flushed face and hand on his cock several times, left speechless by the sight of the American touching himself. As surprised as he was, he couldn’t help but become even more aroused by it, the way Alfred’s eyelids fluttered every now and then and the sounds that spilled out of his open mouth, how his chest rose and fell in breaths that were becoming increasingly labored.

He watched for several long moments before he couldn’t take it anymore. Tangling his hands in Alfred’s hair, he kissed him, drinking in the sounds the American continued to make. His hips shifted forward and he ground against the larger body beneath him, increasing the friction for Alfred and partially sating his own need.

“Arthur,” the American panted between kisses, eyes open just enough to find green eyes staring at him hungrily.

Leaning close, the Angel licked his lip before drawing it into his own mouth and suckling gently, tugging just a little. Then he bucked, watching those blue eyes widen as Alfred groaned just as Arthur slipped his tongue into the American’s mouth to capture the sound. Alfred kissed back greedily, his free hand curling around the Angel’s hip to encourage him to move faster. The Angel moaned softly, pulling away.

“What is it?”

Arthur grinned and took hold of Alfred’s wrist, forcing the American to stop rubbing himself. Without looking away, he guided that hand to his own erection before he let go of Alfred’s wrist. A moment later, he’d wrapped his own hand around Alfred’s hardened member. Understanding lit the blue eyes and Alfred grinned before pulling Arthur into another kiss. Slowly, they began to move their hands.

Groaning, the Angel bit Alfred’s lip, hips rocking to try to increase the friction caused by the American’s calloused palm. He squeezed his own hand so that the taller man gasped, and let out a soft moan a moment later when Alfred returned the favor.

“Faster,” he commanded against the American’s mouth, then shuddered when Alfred obeyed. Likewise, he increased the pace of his pumping, twisting now and then so that Alfred began to move his hips until they were both grinding against each other, barely enough space between their bodies to keep touching each other as they panted and moaned. Hands became slick with precum, allowing them to pump faster and faster until everything else faded away except them, bodies pressed together as if trying to meld into one being.

“A-Arthur…”

The name came out on a breath and the Angel took that as his cue to up the tension, shifting his hand to palm the head of Alfred’s erection. At the same time, he ducked down and bit the side of the American’s neck, sucking and tugging with his teeth so that a hickey would form.

Alfred, all but helpless due to what was being done to him, concentrated as hard as he could on Arthur’s length, copying the Angel’s hand movements. He was already close, sweating but determined not to break before Arthur did; the only way to do this was to go at the same time. But he felt unfair that he was being treated more than Arthur was, so he let his hand wander from the Angel’s hip to his backside, rubbing and squeezing as his fingers searched out the smaller man’s entrance.

“Hng…” Arthur tensed when he felt what Alfred was doing, though he didn’t stop his hand. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world to be touched there by dry fingers, but it didn’t feel bad, either, and as long as Alfred didn’t try to push into him, it would be fine; he kissed the fast-forming hickey on the American’s neck as his concentration went back to pushing his human lover over the edge.

A tongue slid along the curve of his ear and he shivered. “I’m close, Artie,” Alfred panted into his ear, squeezing the Angel’s length so that he let out a long groan.

“M-me, too.”

A silent agreement was made and Arthur reached up to kiss the American again, deeply and roughly as they both increased the pace of their hands, moved faster against each other in desperation. The need was building, making their breaths come in short gasps between tangled tongues and lips molding to fit each other. He could feel it, his stomach tightening with a pressure on the verge of bursting and he knew Alfred felt the same because he could actually feel the American’s need just as easily as he could feel his emotions.

Just one last—

“ _Arthur!_ ”

Caught in the throes of his release, Alfred’s hand tightened and twisted, forcing Arthur to make the same leap the American just had. He bucked, a hoarse shout ripping from him as the world was obliterated by a blinding pleasure, back arched and nails digging into Alfred’s shoulder as he tried to hold on. When the pleasure faded and his vision returned, blurred and unfocused, he slumped forward with a soft groan. A gentle hand began to slowly stroke through his hair; he could feel Alfred trembling and panting and knew that he was in a similar state, could feel the sticky mess they’d made, but he didn’t care. He was warm and sated and with Alfred, and he didn’t care about anything else.

Minutes passed as the two tried to regain their breath, tried to still their shaking limbs. Alfred moved to wrap his arms around Arthur, holding the Angel close to his chest and burying his nose in the smaller man’s golden hair, breathing in his scent as his eyes fell closed. Likewise, Arthur nuzzled into the broad chest that was so comfortable to lie against, his arms tucked close to his body to preserve warmth.

“We should clean up,” he said quietly, once his heart rate had returned to normal. A hum was the only response he received, and he smiled; Alfred was already half asleep. “Later, then, love.”

Still smiling, he cuddled as close to the larger man as he could and let his eyes close with a content sigh. Napping like this suddenly sounded like the perfect way to spend the afternoon.


	27. Chapter 27

Grinning, Alfred wrapped his arms around the smaller male’s waist and pulled him close in a hug. Their foreheads pressed together as their eyes met, and a soft smile curved Arthur’s lips.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” he whispered, fingers slightly curled into the black fabric of the security uniform that covered the taller man’s chest. “Be safe, love.”

“I will.” Leaning down, he kissed the Angel gently before letting him go. “See you in the morning.”

Arthur walked him to the door, unwilling to see him go, and pulled him into another kiss before the American could walk outside, holding onto his scarf to pull him close enough. That made Alfred chuckle, and he tousled the Angel’s hair before leaving the apartment, firmly shutting the door behind himself. He buried his hands in his pockets and tucked his chin down into the scarf to fend off the cold night wind as he made his way to the car idling in the street. Thankfully, it was warm in the car when he got in, and he offered a welcoming smile to the two men in the front seats.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for the ride. I know I’m kinda out of your way.”

“Ve~it’s no problem, Alfred!” Feliciano replied with a happy smile as Ludwig began driving.

“It’s only an extra five minutes,” the German confirmed and Alfred nodded, putting on his seat belt before relaxing and looking out the window. As always, it was dark outside, though the street lamps illuminated the street enough to see the dirty snow that had been shoved against the curbs to provide room for traffic. Even though it wasn’t exactly beautiful, he liked watching the outside world pass by as they drove. It helped him relax and stay calm when all he really wanted to do was burst.

The last three days had felt like an eternity and now that he and Arthur were being open with each other he felt like he could barely contain himself. Yes, around the Angel he was calm, was content to hold him and kiss him and cuddle all day long. But now that he was away from the green-eyed man he wanted to laugh as loud as he could, maybe even jump up and down and announce to the world that he was in love and the man he loved was in love with him, too.

“You look happier than normal, Alfred,” the Italian in the front passenger seat commented, turning around to see the small, absent-minded smile on the blond’s face. “Is your mood better now?”

Alfred’s smile grew and he nodded. “Sure is. Couldn’t be better.” He winked so that Feliciano giggled before turning back around. Yeah, his mood was better and he wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling even if he’d wanted to. Somehow, he managed to hold in his excitement for the entire fifteen minute drive to the lab, and was silent as he walked to the side door they always used with Ludwig and Feliciano on his left. It was a relief to get inside out of the cold, and he began unwinding the scarf from around his neck as they made their way down the hall to the security office.

“ _Hola,_ Alfred! _Hola,_ Feliciano, Ludwig,” Antonio greeted the three men as they entered the room and clocked in, already in his place at the wall of monitor screens. What was unusual, though, was the fact that Lovino was seated on the green-eyed Spaniard’s lap, rather than on the couch or at the table. Curiosity took hold of Alfred and he raised an eyebrow.

“What’s up, Lovi?”

The Italian looked up, his face the picture of embarrassment rather than irritation.

“What is it, _fratello?_ ” Feliciano asked, coming up next to Alfred and looking at his brother curiously.

“Go on, _mi amor,_ ” Antonio encouraged him quietly, his arm wrapped loosely around the Italian’s midsection; he placed a kiss on Lovino’s cheek. “Don’t be shy.”

His face turning as red as the tomatoes that Antonio so often compared him to, Lovino shifted uncomfortably and lowered his gaze to the floor as he lifted his hand. It was quiet for a moment as Ludwig, Feliciano and Alfred stared at the hand being shown to them. His left hand. With a beautiful diamond ring adorning a very specific finger.

Feliciano was the first to move, diving forward to hug his brother as he all but pulled him off Antonio’s lap.

“Lovino! Oh, _mio dio! Congratulazioni!_ ” he shouted excitedly, face nuzzling into his brother’s chest. To everyone’s surprise, Lovino didn’t curse or struggle or even roll his eyes. Instead, he hid his face in Feliciano’s shoulder and hugged him back, shaking slightly as if trying not to burst into tears.

Still speechless, Alfred stared at the two Italians for several moments before grinning at Antonio and holding out his hand. “Congrats, man.”

“ _Ja,_ congratulations.”

The Spaniard, obviously proud and very pleased with himself, shook Alfred’s hand, then shook Ludwig’s. “ _Gracias, mis amigos._ ”

The three men turned their attention to Feliciano and Lovino, amused to find that Feli had yet to release his brother and was rocking side to side as he continued to hug him tightly.

“Feliciano, you can let go now.”

“No.”

Finally, Lovino’s temper began to show itself as he tried to pry his brother’s arms off himself. “Why the hell not?”

“Because _mio fratello_ is engaged! It’s very…very… _emozionante! Meraviglioso! Sono così felice per voi,_ Lovino!”

“ _Si,_ Feliciano,” Lovino sighed after a moment as he gave up trying to free himself and returned his brother’s hug once more. “ _Grazie, mio fratello._ ”

The hug lasted for several more seconds before Feliciano finally decided to pull back from his brother, though he kept hold of the other Italian’s hands. “When is the wedding? Have you picked your groomsmen? What are you wearing?” he asked, the words running together so quickly that Lovino didn’t appear to know which one to answer first.

“June, no, I’m not sure,” he eventually managed after deciphering what exactly his brother had just asked. “I, uh…wondered if you would be my best man, Feli.” His eyes dropped to floor at this admission, and he looked more nervous than the others had ever seen him.

“ _Si!_ ” Feliciano all but squealed, bouncing in his excitement. “Thank you, Lovino!”

The older Italian mumbled something as a response, still looking at the floor, embarrassed.

“Feli, let him breazhe,” Ludwig commanded gently, and Feliciano looked up at him with a wide smile.

“I’m going to be Lovino’s best man, Ludwig!”

The tall blond chuckled, ruffling the Italian’s hair while being careful of the unruly curl that went off to one side. “ _Ja,_ I heard him ask you. It is very exciting.”

Feliciano nodded enthusiastically before turning back to Lovino and asking breathlessly to see the ring. Blushing again, Lovino held out his hand so Feliciano could examine the jeweled ring amidst “oohs” and “ahhs.” With amused smiles, Alfred, Ludwig, and Antonio watched the two brothers. Antonio’s expression was particularly fond and he had eyes only for the darker Italian. A glance revealed that Ludwig’s amusement had morphed into an expression of deep thought as he watched Feliciano fawn over his brother. There was something about the set of his mouth that made Alfred wonder what the German was thinking.

_He’s been with Feli for longer than Antonio and Lovino have been together._

As soon as he realized it, Alfred got the feeling that Ludwig’s thoughts were going along the same line. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if the German proposed to Feliciano within the next few months or even just a few weeks. If that happened, then he’d be working with two married couples while remaining his old, single self.

_Not single,_ he corrected himself, smiling slightly. _I have Arthur._

But then it hit him that, while his friends had been dating for months and, in Ludwig and Feliciano’s case, years, and were getting engaged and married, he couldn’t do that with the Angel. No matter how much he wanted to. Of course, Arthur was an Angel and Alfred would be a fool to think he’d have the petite blond around forever. Definitely not long enough to seriously date even though their relationship had gone from nonexistent to being lovers in a matter of days.

_But I’ll never get the chance to marry him._

That fact hurt. Not enough to lessen his excitement for Lovino and Antonio or to make him any less happy that he and Arthur were actually together now, but it did take a little bit out of his smile. Still, he didn’t want to be the one to ruin the good mood the night had started off with, so he fixed a grin in place and leaned closer to the German standing beside him.

“Is this the Lovino we’ve been working with for the past few years?” Alfred whispered to Ludwig, eyeing the Italian in disbelief. “He’s way too nice to be Lovino.”

bastardo! No one asked you!”

Alfred laughed, not taking Lovino’s anger seriously even for a moment. “Yep, still the Lovino we all know and love.”

As if preparing for a fight, Lovino took his hands from Feliciano’s and straightened, facing Alfred head on. He didn’t have a chance to say or do anything, however, before Antonio had turned his chair around and lifted his arms to hold them open.

“Come, Lovi,” the Spaniard enticed him quietly until Lovino sighed and dropped his aggressive posture. Silent, he made his way back to where Antonio was still sitting and once more settled on his lap, allowing himself to be hugged against Antonio’s chest without complaint.

Exchanging grins, Alfred went to hang up his coat as Feliciano babbled on about wedding plans and picking out what Lovino would wear, what they would eat, the music for the reception, planning their vows, booking a church and reception hall. The list of things he described went on and on until Alfred’s head was spinning with thoughts of weddings. How on earth did Feli even know about all these things?

The American shook his head, still smiling as he moved to lounge on the couch. It was fun to watch his coworkers interact when they had something so exciting to talk about. Antonio, of course, had absolutely no intentions of letting go of Lovino any time soon, not that the Italian looked like he wanted to go anywhere. He’d never seen the moody brunet so content to let Antonio hold him even though the older male was watching the monitors more than he was participating in the conversation. That was understandable, though, since they were at work and while it was too cold for them to patrol outside, Antonio was still responsible for keeping an eye on the cameras.

Every now and then, though, he would look away in order to place a kiss on Lovino’s shoulder or cheek, and then the Italian would blush but not swear or complain like he normally would, and Alfred had to admit that it was a refreshing change. Odd and definitely something they were all going to have to get used to, but nice all the same. Besides, there was always the possibility that Lovino would go back to normal after the initial joy at being engaged wore off and the stress of planning the wedding got to him. Then he’d probably be even more temperamental than before. Of course, he’d get over that during the honeymoon, and after that, they’d all get the normal Lovino back.

This was all going to be very interesting and Al got the feeling that these overnight shifts were going to be used as prime wedding planning time. Well, that was definitely better than wading through the snow outside.

X

As quietly as he could, Alfred shut and locked the front door. He kicked off his boots so he wouldn’t track snow through the apartment and carefully placed his belt, complete with gun holster, handcuffs, keys, and flashlight on the top shelf in the front closet and hung up his coat. It was just before 5:30 in the morning, so he tiptoed across the living room, sock-covered feet making little to no noise, and slipped into the bedroom.

To his surprise, Arthur was sitting up in bed with an open book in his lap and looked up at Alfred as soon as he walked in.

“Hello,” he greeted the American with a smile, carefully shutting the book and setting it aside.

A little confused, Alfred returned the smile. “Hey. Why’re you still up?” he asked, unbuttoning the front of his shirt and shrugging out of it.

“I wanted to wait up for you.”

Even in the dim bedroom, Al could tell that the Angel blushed as he said it and knowing so made his smile widen. “You didn’t have to do that,” he replied as he changed out of his uniform and into his pajama pants.

“I know.” Arthur shifted over to make room for the tall American and Alfred climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his waist.

“Come here,” he whispered, and the Angel immediately moved closer again, tucking himself into Alfred’s side. A sigh of contentment escaped him and he wrapped his arms around the smaller male, holding him close. He buried his nose in the Angel’s hair to inhale his scent. “I missed you.”

Arthur nodded rather than respond out loud, though he’d missed the American, as well. “How was work?”

“Interesting is the best word I can think of to describe it.”

Pulling away slightly, the green-eyed man looked up at Alfred curiously. “What happened to make it interesting?”

Alfred couldn’t help but grin and he placed a light kiss on Arthur’s forehead. “Antonio and Lovino are getting married.”

Even though he didn’t know the two men very well, he remembered meeting them the night they’d come over for drinks. It had been completely obvious that they were together, as were Ludwig and Feliciano, though he had gotten the feeling that Lovino wasn’t exactly open with his feelings, and he could tell from Alfred’s tone that the engagement had come as a bit of a surprise.

“That’s wonderful,” he responded eventually, a smile making its appearance. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.”

“Oh, Antonio’s ecstatic. I’m sure there was a part of him that was worried Lovino would say no, but we all knew he loved Toni under all his sarcasm and cursing.”

That earned a laugh from Arthur and he snuggled into Alfred’s chest once more. “Yes, I sensed that in him when they were here last week.”

It was quiet for several moments, and Arthur began thinking Alfred had fallen asleep until the American spoke up once more.

“Hey, Artie?”

“Yes, love?”

“Did you…when you were human,” the American began, his tone unsure, “you know, when you were with Francis, would you have married him?”

Silence fell again as Arthur considered the question. He could feel the nervousness coming off Alfred and it made him wonder at the American’s motives for asking, but he didn’t question him. “Yes. If we had lived in a time and place more accepting of our relationship, and if he’d asked me, I would have married him. I wouldn’t have made it easy for him, but I would never have said no. I did love him, after all.”

Alfred bit his lip. “And now?”

“Now, what?”

Fidgeting, Alfred slowly rubbed his hand in a circle on the Angel’s lower back. “If you were human now, would you want to marry him?”

Arthur drew away again, looking at the American with confused green eyes. “What are you talking about, Alfred?”

“If you were human now, and you met Francis, say tomorrow, would you fall in love with him again and marry him?”

A frown appeared on Arthur’s face and he sat up, looking down at Alfred. “Why are you asking me this?”

The blue eyes refused to meet his gaze. “I was just wondering.”

Not willing to believe that, Arthur opened his mouth to argue then stopped; his expression softened and he took Alfred’s face into his hands, forcing the taller blond to look him in the eye. “I love _you,_ Alfred,” he whispered, smiling just slightly. “You. Yes, I loved Francis, and I would have married him, but he’s been gone for a long, long time. I thought I was going to spend the rest of eternity by myself, and then I met you. You make me happy in a way I haven’t been since I was human.”

He paused as Alfred smiled, pressing his forehead to the ash blond’s so that they were looking directly into each other’s eyes. “But you’re asking me if I’d fall in love with Francis if I met him tomorrow, if I was human and had never known him before. Yes. I’d love him, because he’s a man I can love. But,” his voiced dropped to a whisper, “I’ll still be in love with you tomorrow, and I would be regardless of being human or Angel or what have you. So even if I met Francis tomorrow, I wouldn’t pursue a relationship with him because I already have you.”

They were both quiet as his words sank in, and then Alfred pulled the Angel into a kiss. “Thanks, Artie.”

“You’re welcome, love. What brought this on? Lovino and Antonio’s engagement?”

“Yeah…it got me thinking about…when you have to go back to heaven.”

Arthur wrapped comforting arms around the taller man and pressed close to him. “Don’t worry about that, Alfie,” he ordered in a soft voice. “I’m here now, and I want to enjoy my time with you while it lasts. When I leave…it’ll be hard. But don’t think about it until it’s time, or you won’t be happy while I’m here, okay?”

“Yeah,” Alfred conceded, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin and holding the Angel protectively; lips ghosted against his collarbone.

“Good night, love.”

“Night, Artie.”


	28. Chapter 28

_It had been a while. Lately, he’d been simply putting himself into a dreamless sleep rather than dream or visit his meadow where he might potentially encounter another Angel. But he knew it was time to go back, to check in with his superiors and at least let them know that he was alive and recovering._

_Besides, he’d missed the peace and quiet of his meadow, and as he stood at the top of a hill, he couldn’t help but smile. The wind ruffled his hair and tugged gently at his clothes—yet another borrowed pair of Alfred’s boxers. As always, fog hung in the low places and half hid a distant forest._

_Green eyes lifted to examine dull grey clouds that slowly passed over a pale blue sky. Hardly another thought passed through his mind before Arthur’s wings opened. A single powerful downward stroke launched him off the ground and he flapped rapidly to gain altitude._

_Freedom. All the freedom in the world was his now that his wings were merely stiff from disuse. He was well enough to return to heaven._

_But that wasn’t what Arthur wanted, and the joy of flight quickly faded at the thought. He was airborne for only a few more minutes before he began his descent. Lightly, his feet touched down on the slightly damp earth, though his movements lacked the grace he’d had only a few months ago._

_“I’m out of practice,” he murmured to himself, knowing it would take a while for his physical body to get back into the habit of effortless flight. At least it wasn’t something he would mind taking the time to do._

_Sighing, the Angel looked around for a few moments before closing his eyes and letting his mind drift until he sensed the familiar presence of another Angel. As before, he drew that consciousness into his meadow and opened his eyes to see a young boy standing before him, looking around in curiosity._

_“Hello, Peter,” he greeted the other Angel. The boy wasn’t exactly his first pick, but he knew that Peter would do what he asked and he didn’t have time to try to find someone else._

_“Arthur!” Surprise widened the boy’s eyes and he stared at the taller Angel. “You’re alive!”_

_“Of course I’m alive,” Arthur responded, holding back his annoyance. “I’ve just been too hurt to fly. Now, I have a job for you, Peter.”_

_Instantly, the younger Angel straightened with obvious eagerness. “What is it?”_

_“Can you find Romulus for me? I need to speak with him.”_

_Peter puffed out his small chest and jabbed a thumb against his sternum. “Of course I can!” Then he vanished, and Arthur let out a relieved sigh—Peter would rather die than fail in his task and be proven incapable. It was the boy’s only goal to prove that, even though he was technically a child, he was just as smart and strong as the adults. Arthur would never tell Peter this, but he sometimes thought the boy was more capable than a lot of the older Angels._

_Knowing that his request was being fulfilled, Arthur settled in the grass to wait, lying back so he could watch the clouds pass by overhead. He felt it, several minutes later, when another consciousness entered his meadow, though he didn’t bother to move. It was only Romulus, after all, and the older Angel had already moved to lie beside him._

_“Hello, Arthur.”_

_A sigh escaped the blond and he let his eyes fall closed. “Hello, Romulus.”_

_“How have you been? We were beginning to worry—it’s been so long since you last contacted anyone,” Romulus pointed out, looking over at the smaller Angel with slight concern. “I was hoping you would be healed and back where you belong by now. Has something else happened to delay your return?”_

_“No.” Arthur stopped, immediately hating himself for saying that. “No, I’m sorry. Yes. Something has happened.”_

_His concern growing, Romulus sat up. “What is it, Arthur?”_

_“I…” he bit his lip, hesitating, unsure of how to phrase this, then sat up as well though he didn’t meet the other Angel’s gaze. “I think I’ve become a danger to myself.”_

_They were quiet for a moment, then Romulus placed a comforting hand on the blond’s shoulder. “You’ve fallen in love with him.” It wasn’t a question. The answer was written all over Arthur’s face, was clear in how he curled into himself slightly and kept his eyes lowered._

_“Yes,” he eventually whispered, on the verge of tears. He’d let Romulus down. He’d fallen in love with a human, something that was forbidden because it was dangerous. It was one of the few rules of heaven and he, Arthur, had broken it._

_“Does he know?”_

_The blond nodded, bringing his knees to his chest so he could wrap his arms around them. “I couldn’t hide it from him anymore. I’m sorry. I know it’s dangerous and I tried to stop myself but I just…Romulus, I swear, if I could have ignored my feelings then I would never have let this happen. I would have buried them so deep that not even I would remember they existed at all. There’s just something about him that I can’t—” Frustrated and angry and hurt, he let out a cry of anguish and buried his face in his arms, shoulders shaking as he began to cry._

_Romulus shifted closer to the smaller male and gently patted the sobbing Angel’s back, rubbing slowly. He didn’t offer any words of sympathy or scold the blond, didn’t try to convince him that his feelings would go away once he returned to heaven. There was no point in that. They both knew that Arthur would carry his love for Alfred for the rest of his existence, and it would be a heavy burden._

_“I-I don’t know what to do!” Arthur forced out between shuddering gasps for breath; he leaned into Romulus in seek of comfort and guidance. “I know I h-have to come back but I d-d-don’t want to leave him! I can’t hurt him like th-that! I can’t, Romulus!”_

_“Shhh, Arthur,” Romulus murmured, pulling the smaller Angel into a hug and holding him just as he’d done after the blond’s wing had been broken. “Calm down. It’ll be all right.”_

_It took several minutes for Arthur to regain control of himself, and he held onto the older Angel’s robes as he forced himself to take deep, calming breaths even as tears continued to roll down his cheeks._

_“I hate this,” he whispered brokenly. “I wish none of this had ever happened.”_

_Patting his head, the brunet continued to soothe the smaller Angel. “I know. It isn’t fair to you—no Angel should have to endure the pain that comes with loving mortals. But let me ask you one thing, Arthur, before you convince yourself that you really mean what you just said.”_

_Tear-filled green eyes looked up to meet Romulus’ gaze and the older Angel smiled kindly. “Would you be willing to give up the happiness Alfred gives you, and the happiness you’ve given him, if doing so would also erase the pain you’ve felt?”_

_Give up the happiness that Alfred gave him? Take away the happiness he’d given to Alfred, force the American to suffer nightmares again and let him go back to the lonely existence he’d had before?_

_“No,” he answered finally, voice lower than normal though firm. “No, I’m not willing to do that.”_

_“You know the consequences of your decisions, Arthur,” Romulus stated. “Whatever you decide, don’t let your emotions overpower your other senses.”_

_“I won’t.” Now visibly much calmer though still internally struggling with the choice he needed to make, Arthur put space between himself and the brunet Angel. “Thank you for coming to see me.”_

_“Of course, my old friend.”_

Arthur opened his eyes to find himself wrapped in strong arms, his head tucked under Alfred’s chin as the American slept. Unsurprisingly, his cheeks were cold due to the tears that had leaked onto them and he quickly wiped them dry, though he made sure not to move too much and wake the other man. With a shuddering sigh, he wrapped his arms around Alfred and pulled as close to the taller blond as he could. His talk with Romulus hadn’t done much to help him.

Yes, he knew he needed to return to heaven now that his wing was healed, though what he’d said about not wanting to leave Alfred all alone, not wanting to hurt the blue-eyed man like that had been completely true. There wasn’t a bone in his body that could imagine being able to say good-bye to the American. He’d burst into tears first, and cling to Alfred’s shirt and apologize a million times over and promise that things were going to work out even though he didn’t know how.

But for now he was still too tired to try to figure it out, so he reached up and placed a hand on the side of Alfred’s face so that his fingertips were against the American’s temple, and closed his eyes once more. He would spend the rest of the night with Alfred, fulfilling the bespectacled man’s needs in his dreams because he couldn’t in the real world.

X

This was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Hiding his feelings from Alfred had been bad enough when he was pretending he didn’t love the ash blond. But this, trying to act happy when really all he felt was a growing sense of dread, was much more difficult.

“Hey, Artie! Whaddya want for breakfast?” the American’s voice sounded from the kitchen, and Arthur took a moment to gather himself so that his voice was steady.

“Toast with jam and eggs, please.”

“Got it! I’m makin’ orange juice, too.”

“All right.”

There was such obvious happiness in Alfred’s tone and behaviors that it broke Arthur’s heart. The American had no idea what was coming, no idea how soon Arthur was going to have to take that happiness away. God, he didn’t want to. He wanted to keep Alfred happy forever, to never let a frown or anything even close to sadness enter the tall man’s expression ever again. Yet he was going to be doing the exact opposite in…how many hours? He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to look at the clock and think about how much time he had left before Alfred would leave for work. Would he even manage to do it? It wasn’t going to be easy.

“You wanna take a bath after we eat?”

There was no suggestive lilt to the question and yet Arthur’s thoughts immediately went to the last time he’d taken a bubble bath, then to the time before that. If Alfred wanted to take a bath with him, then Arthur wasn’t going to let it be innocent. Not today.“Yes, I would like that,” he responded, finally getting out of bed and leaving the bedroom to join Alfred in the kitchen. A pitcher of orange juice already sat on the table along with plates and silverware, so he took his usual place and poured himself some of the juice. Green eyes observed Alfred as the tall American cooked. He was humming softly as he tended to the eggs currently occupying the frying pan, and he was swaying from side to side a little.

Unable to help himself, Arthur got up again and wrapped his arms around the ash blond’s middle, face nuzzling into Alfred’s back between his shoulder blades. The American started then chuckled, placing a hand over Arthur’s.

“Hey, there,” he murmured, smiling. “What’s this for?”

Arthur shrugged but didn’t pull away; his arms tightened slightly. “Love you.”

Without breaking the smaller man’s grip, Alfred turned until they were facing each other and looked down into the Angel’s emerald eyes, winding his own arms around him. “I love you, too.”

Tears began to prick at Arthur’s eyes and he quickly buried his face in Alfred’s chest to hide it, biting his cheek to keep from crying. He didn’t have much time left—there was no way he was going to waste it by breaking down. A gentle hand stroked through his hair, making it easier for him to relax and calm down.

Damn it, why could this one blasted American affect him so easily? How had he managed to be rescued by the one human who could steal his heart without even trying? It really wasn’t fair.

_But I wouldn’t have wanted to be rescued by anyone else. It had to be him. He’s the only one._

Fixing a smile in place, the Angel stepped back and returned to his chair as Alfred finished breakfast then set the food on the table. They ate in near silence, though that wasn’t much of a surprise because the American was usually quieter when there was food to be eaten than he was the rest of the time. Only when he’d had his fill did the ash blond lean back in his chair with a contented sigh and a smile.

“Delicious.”

Arthur nodded his agreement before finishing off his orange juice. “It always is.”

That earned a chuckle from the American and he winked playfully; the Angel blushed lightly. “Thanks, Artie.”

“Should we clean up before our bath?”

Alfred took a deep breath then let it out slowly, blue eyes examining the few dishes there were to wash and put away. “Yeah, probably.”

“But you don’t want to,” Arthur said with a knowing smile, and the American laughed before nodding.

“Nope.”

“Well,” the golden blond began, standing and moving towards the sink, “either we clean up and then have a fun bath,” he threw a flirtatious smile at the taller man, “or we take a boring bath then clean up.”

Alfred stared as if he couldn’t quite believe that the Angel had suddenly turned into the sort to tease him about taking a bath. “’Fun’ bath?” he asked, throat feeling a little thicker than usual; he couldn’t help but let his gaze slide over the petite man currently filling the sink with hot, soapy water. The Angel had to lean against the edge of the counter to reach the faucet, which made it look like he was sticking his ass out, and Alfred had the overwhelming urge to move behind the Angel, press against him, pin him to the counter while he kissed and bit that pale neck to leave little marks as proof of who the petite blond belonged to.

“Yes. I can be fun, you know.” He could feel those blue eyes on him, undressing him where he stood, could feel the want coming off of Alfred and knew that he was going to get exactly what he wanted from the American as long as he played his cards right.

“I know.”

Abandoning the sink, Arthur began to gather the dirty dishes from the table and put them on the counter so he could wash them. “So? Which is it?”

The American didn’t even hesitate. “Clean up first.”

Arthur chuckled. “I thought you’d say that.”

When the dishes were washed and put away, the table and counters had been wiped off and the floor swept, Alfred moved close to the Angel and wrapped his arms around the slender waist, placing a kiss on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Bath time?” he asked softly, and Arthur shivered to feel a warm breath against the back of his ear.

“Yes.” A moment later he’d dropped his only article of clothing to the floor and stepped out of Alfred’s embrace, much to the American’s surprise. He cast a single backwards glance over his shoulder for the solitary purpose of smirking at the taller blond before he went into the bathroom, partially shutting the door behind himself. By the time Alfred got over the shock and joined him, the tub was partially filled with hot water and the Angel had already added bubbles.

“So, how are you gonna make this fun?” he asked, trying not to sound completely perverted, though Arthur didn’t miss the eagerness in his movements as the tall blond stripped off his pajamas.

“You’ll see, love. Be patient.” It was clear from Alfred’s expression that the last thing he wanted to do was be patient, but he didn’t complain.

Only moments later the bathroom was filled with steam and Arthur shut the door the rest of the way to prevent it from escaping. As Alfred watched, he climbed up on to the counter, his movements easy because it wasn’t the first time he’d done so. Then, just like the first time, he braced one hand against the mirror and wrote out the familiar phrase.

Turning, he offered an innocent smile to Alfred. “Do you like it?”

Blue eyes widened as the American read it. “’I want to fuck Alfred F. Jones’?”

Arthur nodded. “This is the second time I’ve written that.”

“When was the first?”

Graceful, the Angel jumped down from the counter and moved close enough to the larger male to place a light kiss on the tanned chest. “The first night you went back to work after Ivan broke my wing.”

“Really?” Large hands rested on his hips, drawing him even closer. “Did you do anything or just write on the mirror?”

A smile graced Arthur’s lips and he took Alfred’s hand into his own. “I always do something.”

“Always?” Alfred was bewildered but allowed himself to be pulled forward and into the bathtub.

“Always,” the Angel confirmed, shivering at the heat of the water swishing around his calves. “I couldn’t get you out of my head, you bloody wanker.”

Alfred laughed and kissed the smaller male’s forehead. “I’m not sorry.”

“Neither am I.” Using his grip on Alfred’s hand, Arthur pulled the American down to sit in the tub, maneuvering himself until Alfred was leaning back against the wall and Arthur was leaning back against him, seated between the larger man’s legs. God he needed this, needed to feel close to this perfect blue-eyed man. He needed every reassurance that Alfred loved him just so he wouldn’t shatter under the weight of what was coming. “This is what I imagined we would be like, the first time.”

“First time?” Lips brushed against the side of his neck and Arthur sighed softly, eyes falling partway shut.

“Yes…”

“How many times have you done this?” A kiss on his shoulder as hands slid over his hips.

“Mm…a few…whenever I couldn’t stop myself anymore…”

“Really.” The feeling of a tongue tracing the curve of his ear made Arthur tremble. “I’ve thought about you, too, you know.” It was a husky whisper and Arthur felt his body grow warmer; he pressed back against the larger man in invitation.

“You have?”

“Oh, yeah.” Gently, he nipped at the Angel’s earlobe before trailing kisses down his neck. One of his hands wandered down a soft thigh to the pale man’s knee before slowly trailing back up. “All the time. That day in the park, when I admitted to jacking off? I was thinking about you while I did it.”

“Sometimes I imagine you make me touch myself,” Arthur admitted quietly, “you call me a naughty little Angel and say I need to be punished. No matter how I beg, you refuse to touch me so I have to do all the work.”

His arousal getting the better of him, Alfred took hold of Arthur’s hips and lifted him, pulling him back until the Angel was seated square in his lap. As if he’d been expecting it, Arthur began shifting back and forth to create even just a little friction, and soft moans escaped two pairs of parted lips.

“Alfred…”

“God, Artie, you make me want you so bad.”

Reaching back, Arthur slid one hand into ash blond locks and gripped gently. “The first time I did this, I imagined you held me just like you’re doing now, and you fingered me until I came.”

The American made a sound that was somewhere between amused and aroused. “I can do that.”

Arthur nodded, pulling his legs up so that his knees were visible above the water. He took hold of Alfred’s wrist and guided one of the larger man’s hands beneath himself until Alfred had a firm grasp of his backside, biting his lip to keep from moaning already. Immediately, that hand began to rub and squeeze and Arthur gasped softly, legs falling open just a little farther.

“You’re horny as fuck, aren’t you.”

“Y-yes,” he answered, slightly out of breath.

Teeth caught onto his earlobe again, tugging gently as a hot mouth sucked. “Tell me what you imagined. I want to do exactly that.”

“Hickeys on m-my neck and shoulder.”

Alfred instantly switched his attention to the place where neck melded into shoulder, biting down hard enough for Arthur to cry out a little, his nails digging into the larger man’s thigh. Then the pain was soothed away by lips and tongue and he shuddered.

“A-Alfred…”

“What else?”

It took a moment for Arthur to gather his thoughts enough to remember. “Play with…ah…” He gestured at his chest and was rewarded by a calloused palm sliding over his own soft skin, both warm from the water they were partially submerged in. The fingers trailed over his ribs and upward until they located one of his nipples.

“Nng!”

Almost vicious, Alfred caught the sensitive mound between his fingers and twisted, rolling it and pinching until Arthur was a panting, moaning mess.

“Keep going, Arthur,” he whispered into the Angel’s ear. “I know this isn’t everything you want me to do to you.”

Arthur whimpered, too distracted by what was already being done to his body to want to focus. “Y-you fingered me.”

“You’re damn right I did,” Alfred growled into his ear, and Arthur couldn’t help but shudder at that tone.

“P-please, Alfie…please…”

Grinning, Alfred moved his hand from where it had been patiently rubbing the Angel’s rear and sent his fingers in search of Arthur’s entrance. Arthur let out a keening whine when he found it, and he set his fingers to stroking and teasing the spot.

“Relax.”

He barely had time to take a breath before one of those fingers began to push forward; his back arched upwards and his grip on both Alfred’s hair and thigh tightened. Small tears of pain gathered under his eyes and he groaned, though a moment later the pain was replaced by a different sensation as that finger began to move. The hand that had been so busy with his nipple slid down his torso until it wrapped around the hardened length between his legs, moving slowly, and he couldn’t help but buck a little.

“A-Alfred—!”

“Shhh, Artie,” the blue-eyed man soothed, smiling gently; he placed a kiss on the hickey he’d made on Arthur’s neck. “I’ve got you.”

“More!”

The desperate plea had Alfred adding a second finger and he scissored them as Arthur continued to let out little whimpers and moans, his slender hips moving in time with both of Alfred’s hands. A gentle squeeze on his member dragged a whine out of him and he shut his eyes tight.

“How’s it feel, Artie?” the American asked, tone teasing despite the fact that his own arousal was making it hard not to lose his patience.

“Good! Ah! I-it feels good!”

Another finger found its way into his body and he called Alfred’s name so loudly that it reverberated off the walls. Encouraged, Alfred pushed deeper, faster and harder, twisting and spreading as the hand he had on the Angel’s shaft squeezed and pumped. Arthur’s chest heaved in the effort to get enough oxygen into his lungs and his hips twisted this way and that in a desperate attempt to guide Alfred to his prostate. He was sweating from the heat of the water and his body’s reaction to Alfred; a tongue licked at the droplets as they rolled over his skin; teeth grazed occasionally, making him shiver.

“Bite…please…” he gasped out, and felt Alfred’s mouth curl into a smirk against the skin of his shoulder.

“Of course.” The tongue travelled up the side of his neck before a hot breath gave him a split second warning. Then Alfred bit down with gentle pressure, then a little harder, and a little harder, sucking as his teeth tugged at the soft flesh. Arthur moaned at the ministrations, mouth hanging open as he lay between the larger man’s legs, completely at Alfred’s mercy.

Then the American’s fingers finally managed to find that bundle of nerves inside the Angel. The touch tore a cry from Arthur and he bucked roughly, shouting Alfred’s name. His tone held every ounce of lust and desire that he felt for the American and Alfred couldn’t take it anymore. Both of his hands began to move faster.

God, yes. More. He was so close, so bloody close that if Alfred would go just a little faster, hit his prostate a little harder, then he’d leap over the edge and sing as he did so. It would drive him mad to have to wait much longer. His stomach was wound tight and ready to burst at any moment, if only Alfred would push him over.

“S-so close, A-Alf-fred!” Those fingers drove against his prostate and Arthur’s hips gave one last upwards thrust as he came. The American’s name left him in the form of a shout as he held on for dear life, blinded by the pleasure that was trying to drown him.

“Good boy, Artie.”

His mind barely registered the whispered words—the world flickered, slowly darkening back to normal. The pleasure faded until it was little more than a blissful warmth that radiated from his very bones. He wouldn’t have been able to get up if he’d wanted to.

“…better…” he mumbled, shifting as Alfred carefully removed his fingers.

“What was that?”

“You’re…better than my imagination…”

Alfred chuckled and placed a kiss on the top of the Angel’s head. “Good to know.”

Useless in his current state of exhaustion, Arthur focused on trying to catch his breath as Alfred cleaned them both. He had to cling to the taller man in order not to fall down when they rinsed off, and Alfred shamelessly used the opportunity to steal a kiss. Barely taking a moment to think about it, Arthur returned the kiss as he pressed closer to the American. Only then did he realize that, while he’d been pleasured to his heart’s content, Alfred was still hard.

“Oh…d’you want me to…?” he asked, looking up at Alfred with tired green eyes, and the American offered his usual dazzling smile.

“You look pretty tired, but I won’t stop you, if you want to.”

Arthur nodded—he wanted to return the favor that had just been granted to him. Slowly so that he wouldn’t fall, he sank to his knees so that he was eye-level with Alfred’s length. For a moment he paused, glancing up to find blue eyes watching him, then leaned forward and placed a light kiss on the tip.

“Mm…I hope you aren’t planning on being a tease, Artie.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

If Alfred had planned on saying something else, he lost the opportunity when Arthur wrapped one pale hand around the base of his member and squeezed ever so gently to coax a moan from the taller man. His tongue slipped out to taste before he took the sensitive organ into his mouth and sucked, head bobbing slowly as his hand moved to compensation for what his mouth couldn’t take.

“A-Artie…damn, you’re good at this…”

He would have smiled if he wasn’t so busy using what little energy he had left on Alfred’s erection. Relaxing his throat, Arthur moved his hand away and took as much of the American as he could, letting his tongue slide along the bottom of the length so that Alfred moaned again; a hand began stroking through his hair in encouragement.

“Faster…”

It only took him a moment to comply, and as soon as his pace increased, the hand in his hair gripped, not gently but not tight enough to hurt. Groans and mumbled words dropped from Alfred’s mouth as if the American was no longer capable of producing speech. That was all Arthur needed to know that he was well on his way to bringing Alfred to his release. The American had already been close and now he could feel him getting closer, could tell in the growing volume of Alfred’s sounds and the way his hips started to move in time with Arthur’s head.

“Nng…harder…”

The command was breathy and, for a moment, Arthur was tempted to ignore it. But he’d promised not to tease, so he breathed through his nose and increased his pace, sucking harder at the same time so that Alfred called his name. It was like music, the way his voice echoed around the bathroom, and Arthur knew without a doubt that the human was right on the edge of his release.

Preparing himself as best he could, he took the entirely of Alfred’s length into his mouth and bit down enough to add pressure to the base before slowly, _slowly_ pulling back—he’d barely made it halfway when a hoarse shout burst from Alfred and he bucked weakly. In order to avoid choking, Arthur swallowed the substance that suddenly filled his mouth then set to cleaning Alfred, licking at any of the mess he hadn’t managed to catch.

“Ah…you d-don’t have to do that,” Alfred panted, hand once more gently moving through Arthur’s golden blond locks. “I can just rinse off.”

“I know.” The Angel offered a small smile. “I wanted to do it.”

The blush already coloring Alfred’s face darkened slightly and he averted his gaze, reaching down to grip Arthur’s hands and help the smaller male to his feet. Despite having been cleaned, he turned the water on to rinse them off one more time before stepping out of the shower and grabbing two towels. One was handed to Arthur, and they dried themselves off in silence.

“Come on.” Yawning, Arthur slipped his hand into Alfred’s and led the taller man out of the bathroom, leaving his towel behind. He headed straight for the bedroom and climbed into bed without bothering to find clothes for himself, and Alfred quickly followed his lead.

Safe and warm together under the blankets, the two men held close to each other. Green eyes stared into blue, both blurred with the exhaustion that was starting to take them over. Within minutes of having gotten into bed, they were both fast asleep.

X

_No. No, don’t leave me. Stay. Stay here with me. Please._

Arthur didn’t voice his thoughts, instead keeping a calm smile in place as Alfred shrugged on his coat and fastened his work belt around his waist.

“Say hello to your friends for me,” he mumbled once he’d been pulled into a close embrace; lips brushed against the top of his head.

“I will. Are you going to wait up for me again?”

“I’m not sure. I’m still feeling worn out.”

Alfred chuckled. “Yeah, I’m still tired, too, but I don’t mind.” He kissed the Angel’s nose. “I gotta go—love ya, Artie.”

“Love you, too, Alfred.” Then the door shut and the tall American was gone, vanishing into the car that waited for him and driving away down the street. Arthur remained where he was, unable to move. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, making it hard to breathe. Tears that had barely been held in check for the last hour broke free and rolled down pale cheeks.

This was it.

Tearing his gaze from the window where he’d caught his last glimpse of Alfred, Arthur turned and went into the bedroom. It was snowing again, so he found a pair of jeans and a hoody, and socks to protect his feet, though he didn’t bother with shoes—he wasn’t going to need them. When he was dressed in the jeans and socks and had the hoody in his arms, he climbed onto the bed and lay there for a while, eyes closed as he breathed in the combined scents of himself and Alfred. Only an hour ago, they had lain there together, fast asleep in each other’s arms and warm from what they’d done in the shower.

The memories they’d made that day weren’t nearly enough to sate Arthur’s need for the blue-eyed man, but they were better than nothing. He refused to regret any of it.

Some time passed before he moved again, though whether it was minutes or hours, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to finish before Alfred got home, so he forced himself off the bed and left the room, wandering into the kitchen. It was just as they’d left it after cleaning up from lunch, save for the few small dishes from dinner and the coffee Alfred had made to help keep himself awake at work.

Impulsively, Arthur cleaned each dish and put them away in their proper places so that Alfred wouldn’t have to do it when he got home.

After the kitchen, he went into the bathroom and picked up the towels they’d left there after their bath and added them to the pile of dirty laundry next to the washing machine. Then he stood in the center of the apartment and looked around, at a loss for what else he could do. He knew he was stalling, knew he was putting off the one thing he really needed to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. Not yet.

The tears grew in frequency until there was little more the Angel could do but sink to the floor and curl in on himself, sobbing uncontrollably with the hoody pressed to his face. Why did this have to happen?

“It isn’t fair!” he shouted, voice broken rather than angry like he wished it was. “Why make me fall in love with him? What have I ever done to deserve this? I’m a good Angel! I don’t understand why!”

There was, of course, no answer. Arthur wasn’t even sure who he was yelling at. God? The universe? Himself? He honestly didn’t know. All he knew was that it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest and it was so much worse than the pain of being murdered, the pain of being betrayed by everyone he knew. It was even worse than having to watch Francis grow old and eventually die. But that hadn’t been this. That had been his choice—he’d saved Francis and making sure the Frenchman lived a good life had helped him deal with the grief of losing his mortal life and the future he’d hoped to have. This, though…there was nothing he could do to make this any less painful than it was.

“I can’t just leave him.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, all the energy he’d had a moment ago abandoning him. “It isn’t fair to me or him. He’ll be so hurt and he won’t understand…but if I wait and say goodbye to him, then I won’t be able to leave at all…and I don’t want to see the pain in his eyes…I wouldn’t be able to take it…”

Leaving now while Alfred was gone at work was the only way he was going to get out of the apartment. If he waited, then he knew without a doubt that Alfred would try to stop him, would beg him to stay. He knew it because he would have done the same had their places been reversed. Hell, he _wanted_ Alfred to make him stay. He didn’t want to have to leave, and he hated that he had to.

Slowly, Arthur uncurled himself and climbed to his feet. He could feel himself shaking, knew that his knees might give at any moment. One by one, he moved around the apartment and shut off all the lights. He could still see perfectly, so he cast a lingering look over the small space that had been his home for the last weeks. In that moment, he realized that this was home, not the house he had back in heaven. This apartment was home because Alfred was here. It would always be home.

“Goodbye, Alfred. I love you,” he whispered before turning and walking out of the apartment. The door was already locked from the inside, and as soon as he shut it behind himself, that was it. He couldn’t have gotten back inside without breaking in, and he wasn’t going to do that. So he faced the street, eyes immediately drawn to where the car had waited to pick up Alfred. It didn’t seem like it had been that long, yet he already missed the American more than he could say.

The dark night sky was starless, filled instead with heavy clouds that sent countless snowflakes down towards earth, filling the streets again overnight. If he didn’t hurry, his socks would be soaked.

Hoody clutched firmly to his chest, Arthur looked around nervously in case anyone happened to be outside before he spread his wings. Stiff, as he’d known they would be; he took a few moments to flex and stretch them before spreading them as wide as they would go. A downward thrust and he was airborne, powerful strokes took him higher and higher until he was above the buildings and looking down on the street he’d only ever seen from the ground level until now. He took a moment to examine it, stared at the doorstep he’d just abandoned, then turned and began heading off in a familiar direction, following the path he knew so he wouldn’t end up somewhere other than where he wanted to go.

Only minutes later, the city vanished and he was flying over trees. A path was visible through gaps in the branches, and he used that as his guide until he reached the hill. His and Alfred’s hill, the one with the bench and solitary tree that looked over the rest of the park.

Wings silent in the cold night air, Arthur made a slow descent until he landed on the hilltop, standing directly in front of the bench. Green eyes looked out over the view, just as he’d done so many times with Alfred by his side. Somehow, the park lost a great deal of its beauty now that he was by himself and he found it all a bit depressing. Turning his back on it, he turned and looked up at the tree.

“I’ll miss you,” he told it quietly, because he was going to miss that tree. He was going miss taking walks through the park, sitting on the bench to talk, enjoying a peaceful afternoon. “I wish I could see you in the spring, when your new leaves come in. Maybe I’ll visit, if I get the chance.”

Yes, he would like that, to visit their hill. Even if Alfred wasn’t there, he wanted to know what this spot looked like in the spring and summer. This was the kind of tree that one sat under to read a book, enjoying the shade during a hot summer day. Arthur regretted the fact that he would probably never get to do that, and he regretted that he wasn’t going to get to sit on that bench with Alfred one last time.

Completely silent, the Angel turned around again and once more propelled himself into the air, this time heading straight up as if he meant to leave the earth behind completely, which was exactly what he intended to do. Within moments he was surrounded by clouds, safe from any human eyes that may have been watching. His path didn’t change and he didn’t waver to one side or the other.

After weeks on earth, after being struck by lightning and having his wing broken, after falling in love with a human and having his heart broken for the second time in his existence, Arthur left New York City to the humans and set his sights on the path back to heaven.


	29. Chapter 29

Tired but happy to be home, Alfred quietly jingled his keys as he entered his apartment, the door shutting with a _click_. It hadn’t been a bad or long shift—Lovino was still uncharacteristically happy due to his engagement to Antonio—but it was always nice to come home in the mornings and know that he had only a hot shower and cuddling with Arthur while he slept to take up the next eight-ish hours.

There was no sound coming from the bedroom, though that was normal. The Angel was probably asleep, or he was reading if he’d decided to wait up, neither of which was a noisy activity. Either way, he didn’t want to disturb the petite blond, so he made sure to be quiet about putting away his work belt and coat in the closet and kicking off his boots. For once, he forwent grabbing clean clothes and headed straight for the bathroom. A hot shower left the mirror fogged over—there was no message, which was slightly disappointing but not surprising. They’d bathed together the day before, after all.

Moisture still clung to his hair and skin as Alfred left the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He tossed his dirty clothes towards the washing machine, noticing that a load had been run through and was ready to be switched to the dryer; he took a moment to do that before quietly entering the bedroom to get dressed.

At first, nothing seemed amiss. The bed was made though slightly rumpled. There was nothing lying on the floor or set out in an unusual place. Just like the rest of his apartment, Alfred’s bedroom appeared to be in near-perfect condition. It wasn’t until he’d finished drying off and was halfway through the process of pulling on his pajama pants that the blond American froze.

_What._

Spinning around, Alfred stared at the empty bed, blue eyes wide.

“Arthur?”

There was no response and Alfred felt a tendril of panic worm its way between his ribs and wrap around his heart. _Arthur wasn’t in their bed._

“Arthur!”

Silence.

“Hey, this isn’t funny!” he called, hoping desperately that the Angel was just hiding somewhere to play a trick on him. “ _Arthur!_ ”

More silence greeted him, deafening and painful because if Arthur wasn’t responding then that meant he couldn’t hear Alfred calling for him and if he couldn’t hear Alfred calling for him then that meant he wasn’t in the apartment. Why the hell wasn’t Arthur in the apartment?

“Shit—what if something happened to him while I was gone?”

All of his original fears about leaving the Angel alone in his apartment over night came flooding back. Someone could have broken in, could have found Arthur asleep in the bedroom and kidnapped him on the basis of his wings. They could take him to the police, turn him in as a genuine Angel or sell him to whoever wanted to own an Angel the most.

_He could be tied up in some psycho’s basement or locked in a car trunk or in a holding cell in some police station somewhere. Or, fuck! What if they call in scientists and they want to dissect him?! What if they torture him to figure out where he came from and how he became an Angel and if there are more Angels and why he’s on earth and then he tells them about me?_

Unbidden, images of Arthur, bound and gagged and terrified, appeared in Alfred’s mind and he pressed his palms into his eyes until purple swirls appeared against the blackness of his eyelids. This was not okay. His Angel was missing and it was the complete opposite of okay.

The panic that had settled around his heart squeezed and Alfred ran out of the bedroom to turn on all the lights in the apartment. Blue eyes searched for any clues or signs of a break in or struggle. There was nothing. As he’d originally thought, the apartment was as close to pristine as it could get. It was even cleaner than when he’d left for work, which meant that Arthur had taken care of the few dishes from dinner some of the laundry before…vanishing.

“Did…he just…leave?” He barely managed to say it, to force those words out of his mouth because every fiber of his being railed against the thought, refused to accept the possibility.

No. No, no, no. That couldn’t be it. It wasn’t. Arthur wouldn’t just leave without telling him goodbye. Would he? No, of course not. They’d just spent all of yesterday cuddling and sharing food off the same plate and, fuck, they’d gotten each other off in the bathtub! If Arthur had planned on leaving then he would have said something. He would have waited for Alfred to come home so he could at least say goodbye. Alfred had always known that Arthur would leave eventually. They had both known it and had talked about it more than once. But while he was gone? With no warning or note or anything?

“He left me.”

Alfred couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. It felt like his stomach had dropped out, like all his organs had disappeared and there was a gaping hole in his torso where his heart and lungs were supposed to be. Was he breathing? He couldn’t tell, and he didn’t care. The pain in his chest betrayed that, even though he was pretty sure his heart was gone, it was still somehow beating.

_Why would he just leave like that? Why not wait for me? I…I didn’t get to tell him I love him or even say goodbye. He seemed perfectly fine yesterday. Did he plan it like this? Did he not want me to know when he was gonna leave?_

His throat tightened as tears began to form under his eyes; angrily, he wiped at them with the back of his hand. He was _not_ going to cry. This shouldn’t have been a surprise at all. Of course Arthur had gone back to heaven. He was an Angel and he belonged in heaven with other Angels. Alfred had no right to be upset that the petite man was gone.

_But I love him. I don’t want to be without him._

Shit. The tears had escaped and spilled over onto his cheeks, and this time he did nothing to stop them. He was crying and his heart hurt because Arthur was gone and he was never going to see him again.

“No,” Alfred whispered, arms hanging limp at his sides. His eyes fell closed as more tears formed and fell—it barely registered that this was the first time he’d cried in he didn’t know how long. Since before he’d left Ivan, probably. Crying wasn’t something he’d missed in the slightest, yet he couldn’t help it now. “Arthur…”

What was he supposed to do? He’d just finally found happiness again, and Lovino was engaged to Antonio, and Ivan was getting better. Life was starting to look up for the first time in years. But now Arthur was gone and Alfred didn’t know what to do about it. He was alone in this shitty little apartment. Again.

“Do I just go back to the way I was? Am I supposed to act like he never existed?” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

There was no answer to his questions and Alfred let out a heavy sigh. Wiping the tears from his face once more, he forced himself to turn off the lights again and go back into the bedroom. Blue eyes on the carpet, he dropped onto the edge of the bed and tried desperately to make sense of the lonely world he’d so suddenly become part of. Yeah, he could go back to the way he’d been. Sleeping and eating and spending his days alone.

God, that sounded pathetic and just thinking about how lonely he’d been before Arthur made him want to start crying all over again. He managed to hold back this time, however, by lying back on the bed and putting his hands over his face. A low groan escaped him.

“Pathetic, Al. Your Angel lover goes back to heaven and you fucking lose it. Crying in the middle of your living room. Geez.”

The words were meant to snap him out of whatever this was. Unfortunately, it didn’t work and he sighed before shoving the blankets down and actually getting in bed. To hell with it. He was tired and upset and he all he wanted was to go to sleep so that he could deal with this in the morning. But as he lay there with only the sound of his own breathing to listen to, he realized the bed felt larger than it had before, and it was cold, and he couldn’t figure out what to do with his arms.

“Damn it,” the American growled, shoving his face into his pillow with his arms folded under his body. He had turned onto his stomach and pulled the blankets tight around in him an attempt to warm himself up, though it wasn’t doing him any good. This wasn’t working.

“I can’t even fall asleep without him.” Admitting it only served to irritate him further and Alfred swore multiple times before twisting onto his back and staring at the ceiling. It was useless. As tired as he was, he couldn’t get comfortable. His arms were _aching,_ he wanted to hold the Angel so badly.

Slowly, his irritation faded. He couldn’t be angry at himself for missing Arthur already, and he couldn’t be angry at Arthur for leaving. He was just…sad.

With a sigh, Alfred turned onto his side and grabbed his spare pillow, pulling it to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. A deep breath revealed that it actually smelled liked Arthur because it was the pillow the Angel had been using for the last several weeks. The faint scent of tea and rain was soothing and he finally, finally managed to close his eyes and relax. It wasn’t Arthur, not even close, but at least he might manage to get some sleep.

“I love you, Artie,” the American mumbled into the pillow, hoping that, in heaven or wherever he was, that Arthur was thinking about him and missing him just as much as he missed the Angel.

_“Arthur, wait!” Desperate, Alfred chased after the distant figure that he just knew was the Angel he missed so much. No matter how fast he ran, the winged man stayed just out of his reach. “Arthur!”_

_The Angel laughed, glancing back so Alfred saw the flash of green eyes. “Come on, Alfred!” He was still ahead, sandaled feet barely touching the ground as he ran, wings spread so that the feathers ruffled slightly with his movements._

_They were running through what Alfred at first thought was a forest of white trees, though the shapes he could make out quickly grew larger and he recognized them as buildings. Glowing white buildings that were almost too bright for him to look at, though he only took his gaze off Arthur for a few seconds as they ran._

_“Arthur, where are we?” he asked, breathless but not yet tired._

_Wings flapped and the Angel was airborne, flying backwards as he grinned at the blue-eyed American following him. “Heaven, of course. Where else would we be? You know I can’t stay on earth, Alfred.”_

_Yes, he knew that, but it had never occurred to him that Arthur might actually take him to heaven. Humans couldn’t be in heaven, could they?_

_“Is that okay?”_

_Arthur gave him a slightly confused look. “What do you mean?”_

_“Can I be here? In heaven? Am I allowed?”_

_To his surprise, Arthur started laughing and even stopped running so that Alfred finally managed to catch up to him. Unable to stop himself, the American pulled the shorter blond into a hug and buried his face in the Angel’s hair, breathing in deeply to capture his scent, committing it to memory._

_“Of course you’re allowed, Alfred. Heaven is where Angels belong.”_

_Angels? Confusion replaced Alfred’s relief at being able to hold the green-eyed blond and he pulled away far enough to look Arthur in the eye. “What are you talking about?”_

_Lips curved in a smile, the petite Angel reached around Alfred as if to touch something and the American turned his head to see what his companion was doing. To his astonishment, he saw a pair of wings identical to Arthur’s protruding from his back, though his were larger than Arthur’s in proportion to his size._

_“What the hell?”he stammered, eyes wide, and Arthur laughed again._

_“Did you forget already, Alfred? I told you what it takes to become an Angel.”_

_Alfred frowned. “Yeah, you gotta die by…” he trailed off, realization dawning on him. If he was an Angel, that meant he’d given his life in order to save someone else, that he’d died._

_“Am…am I dead?” he asked quietly, and Arthur nodded._

_“Yes, but now that you’re an Angel, we can be together, Alfie.” Obviously happy about this, Arthur wrapped his arms around the American’s waist in a hug. “I’m glad I don’t have to give you up.”_

_Unsure what to do, Alfred slowly returned the hug. “Yeah, me, too.” For some reason, he wasn’t as happy as he should have been about the fact that he was going to spend the rest of eternity with Arthur. But, he supposed, that was because he was still shocked by the fact that he’d apparently died and didn’t even remember it happening._

_“Arthur?”_

_“Yes, Alfred?” The Angel looked up at him and smiled._

_“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”_

_His smile faltered and Arthur looked down again. “Do you really want to know?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Green eyes met blue._

_“Because I didn’t want to see you die.”_

_Bzzz…bzzz…bzzz…_

Grumbling, Alfred lifted his head off the pillow and peered at his phone on the nightstand. He’d forgotten to take his glasses off and they sat crookedly on his face, one lens smeared and dirty to the point where it was useless. And all the while, his phone continued to buzz his afternoon alarm to let him know that it was time to get up and eat something. Despite having been asleep for several hours, he didn’t feel very well-rested and could easily recall the unsettling dream he’d had.

It didn’t take long for the buzzing to become annoying enough for him to reach over and shut it off. As soon as the buzzing ceased, Alfred flopped back onto the bed and found himself staring at the place where Arthur should have been. Where he wanted Arthur to be.

He’d dreamed about being an Angel and living in heaven with Arthur. He’d dreamed about being dead and that unnerved him a lot more now that he was awake than it had during his dream. Did he really miss Arthur so much already that he was willing to give up his life as a human to be with the golden blond?

_Yeah,_ Alfred admitted to himself, sitting up and running a hand through his bedhead, _I do._

Once again, his gaze drifted to the empty space beside him and he chewed on his lip, trying to pretend that Arthur was lying there, still asleep because he’d waited up for Alfred so they could fall asleep together when the American got home from work. It didn’t work nearly as well as Alfred wanted it to.

“I miss you,” he murmured softly to the otherwise silent bedroom, and let out a sigh. There was no use in wishing Arthur would somehow appear and stay with him forever. The Angel was gone and the sooner he accepted that and got used to it, the better it would be for everyone. Unless he decided to use his dream as advice and searched for an opportunity to sacrifice himself in order to save someone else, though he didn’t know how he’d manage that any time soon. He was just a night guard at a laboratory, after all, and that wasn’t a particularly dangerous job. Besides, he doubted it would count as a selfless act if he only wanted to do it so that he could be with Arthur.

Ugh, this was too serious of a topic to think about first thing in the afternoon.

_Breakfast first, then depressing thoughts about death._

As lonely as he knew it was going to be, Alfred forced himself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen, cleaning his glasses on the fabric of his pajama pants as he did so.

Breakfast for one. Great.


	30. Chapter 30

Everything was exactly as he’d left it. Not a single book was out of place on the shelves, the thick blanket was still neatly draped over the back of his favorite chair. Wood sat ready in the fireplace, waiting for him to light it and enjoy the warmth of a fire. The garden was visible through an entire wall made of glass, complete with a door leading outside.

A quiet sigh escaped him as Arthur gazed around his living room. It was small and cozy, neat and pleasantly decorated and he felt happy to be there again, to be in his own home surrounded by his own things. Still, it seemed emptier than he remembered.

The Angel wandered out of the living room and into the kitchen, feeling the smooth wooden floor under his sock-covered feet, running his hands over polished stone countertops. Dark wood cabinets lined the walls, there was a row of windows where he could look out and see his garden while he ate or cooked. This room was untouched as well, and he knew that if he ventured into the rest of his house, he wouldn’t find a single thing out of place. His friends would have kept it clean and tidy for him.

“Arthur?” a small, familiar voice called, and the blond Angel abandoned his kitchen in favor of the small entryway set off to the side of the living room.

“I’m here.” He was met by the sight of a mint-colored bunny with fluffy white wings sitting on the rug, and smiled. “Hello, Min.”

Without hesitation, the bunny hopped forward and reared up on her hind legs to place her front paws on Arthur’s shins. Her eyes examined the hoody and baggy jeans, betraying her curiosity. “What are you wearing, Arthur?”

The Angel bent down to pick the creature up and carefully held her in his arms. “Human clothes. My toga was ruined so I had to find other means of covering myself.”

Min’s nose twitched as she sniffed the fabric of the hoody he wore. “Doesn’t this make your wings uncomfortable?”

Shrugging, Arthur carried his friend into the living and sat on his chair, letting Min settle on his lap as he scratched behind her ears. “At first, but I got used to it. I couldn’t very well stay on earth for so long without hiding what I am.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t come get you,” Min apologized, half sighing it as her eyes closed. She had always loved having her ears scratched, and without Arthur around, she hadn’t been able to enjoy it for the last two months. “It must have been awful to be stuck there.”

“Hm,” Arthur hummed absently, gaze drawn to the glass wall so he could look out over the garden. The fur beneath his fingers was impossibly soft and he scratched and rubbed out of habit, knowing from experience what Min liked the most. If she’d been a cat instead of a bunny, he knew she would have been purring by now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Of course, Min didn’t know anything about Alfred. She didn’t know that Arthur had fallen in love with a human, or what he’d done with that human, and Arthur was determined that she not ever find out. Min was one of his best friends, but he still wasn’t sure how she would react to the knowledge that he’d almost given up his wings for Alfred.

They’d been sitting in silence for quite some time before a timid knock sounded on the front door. “Arthur, are you in there?”

“Come in,” the green-eyed Angel called without moving, and he and Min listened to the door open then close, then footsteps sounded.

“Where are you?”

“Living room, Peter.”

Within moments, the young Angel appeared in the doorway, his expression nervous but excited and even a little bit shy. “Hello.”

Arthur smiled at the smaller blond, still petting Min as she all but slept on his lap. “Hello.”

There was silence for a few moments as Peter fidgeted in the doorway. It was easy to feel his anxiousness—he’d never been good at concealing his feelings, and Arthur knew him too well to be fooled even if Peter tried.

“It…it’s good to see you again,” he eventually managed to say, smiling a little. “For real, I mean.”

“It’s good to see you, as well.” Lifting a hand, Arthur beckoned for Peter to come sit in the chair beside his own, and the younger Angel quickly obeyed. What Arthur hadn’t expected, though, was for Peter to reach out and take hold of his hand. The grip was tight but not painful and Peter obviously didn’t intend to let go until Arthur made him.

“Is something wrong, Peter?” he asked softly, tilting his head to try to see the boy’s face.

Peter shook his head. “No. I just missed you. It was weird, not having you around. I didn’t have anyone to fight with.”

That made the green-eyed Angel chuckle, and he squeezed Peter’s hand lightly. “You missed arguing with me?”

“Yeah, sort of. I was bored without it.”

“I would have thought you were spending all your time working hard so that you could brag to me about everything you accomplished while I was gone,” Arthur teased gently, and Peter’s cheeks turned a light red.

“I-I did! I did a lot of stuff!”

A fond smile settled about his mouth as the older Angel looked at the younger. “I’m sure you did.” Comfortable silence filled the room once more.

“Arthur?” Peter spoke up timidly, blue eyes lowered in a clear display of nervousness.

“Yes, lad?”

“Could…could I stay here with you, tonight?” he asked, voice so quiet that Arthur almost couldn’t hear him.

Arthur didn’t even try to hide his surprise at the request. “Why would you want to stay here with me? Won’t Berwald and Tino want you at home?”

The smaller Angel shrugged, averting his gaze. “Because I want to make sure you don’t disappear again.”

His admittance sent a small pang through Arthur’s heart and he tightened his grip on Peter’s hand. “Of course you can stay here tonight, Peter. I would enjoy your company.”

“Really?” Peter looked at him with wide, hopeful blue eyes, and Arthur nodded. “Thank you!” Arms were thrown around his neck and Arthur found himself being pulled into a hug, though he managed to keep from disturbing Min since she had fallen asleep some time ago. Once he got over the slight shock, he returned the hug.

“You’re welcome, Peter.” He didn’t admit it, but he was glad the boy wanted to stay with him because he didn’t know if he would have been able to fall asleep if he was left by himself. Yes, Peter’s need to make sure the older Angel was really all right was a little silly, but he didn’t point that out, either. There was no reason to, and he had to admit that he had missed Peter while he was away, even if he hadn’t often thought about the child Angel.

Slowly, Peter released him and sat back in his own chair again, though he still maintained his grip on Arthur’s hand. It was a comfortable, companionable silence as the two Angels looked out at Arthur’s garden, admiring the flowers that grew there.

“Welcome home, Arthur.”

Both Arthur and Peter jumped, startled by the sudden voice, and the movement woke Min so that she sat up and yawned, her front teeth appearing rather sharp and dangerous. A laugh sounded from behind them and all three turned to see a third Angel standing in the living room, his brown and gold robes draped impressively around his tall, strong frame. Immediately, Peter jumped to his feet and bowed low in a display of respect.

“Romulus,” he murmured, and Min quickly jumped down from Arthur’s lap in order to bow as well. Then they both looked to wear Arthur still sat, having not moved to bow to their superior.

“Hello, Romulus,” the green-eyed Angel greeted him, his smile somewhat weary. “It’s good to be home.”

The brunet smiled and moved to occupy the remaining chair as Peter resumed his seat—Min chose to place herself on the boy’s lap instead of Arthur’s so that she wouldn’t be in the way of the older Angels’ conversation.

“You had no trouble on your way back, I take it.”

“None at all,” Arthur confirmed, though there was something in his eyes and voice that Romulus caught onto, and he turned his gaze to Peter.

“Have you told Tino and Berwald that you will be staying with Arthur tonight, Peter?” he asked, and the younger male shook his head. “Perhaps now would be a good time to do that.”

Understanding that that was his cue to take his leave and give his fellow Angels the privacy they wanted for their conversation, Peter nodded and stood, holding Min. “I’ll be back tonight, Arthur.” Then he turned and left the living room; Arthur waited until he heard the door shut again before letting out a heavy sigh.

“You look tired,” Romulus commented, and the blond nodded.

“It was even harder than I thought it would be,” he admitted, voice soft. “I almost couldn’t do it.”

“But you did, and everyone is very happy to see you recovered and back home where you belong. Which reminds me,” Romulus paused, reaching into his robes, then withdrew his hand and held it out to Arthur, a slim-handled wand caught in his grip, “I believe this belongs to you.”

Moving slowly, Arthur reached out and took the wand. His fingers moved over its polished gold surface, traced the star-shaped headpiece. It felt good in his hands, familiar and comfortable, and he held it carefully as if afraid he might lose it again. “Thank you.”

“I thought you would want that back as soon as possible.”

Arthur nodded because he had been looking forward to getting his wand back once he returned to heaven.

“What’s troubling you, Arthur?” Romulus asked quietly, brown eyes locked on his companion’s face.

“I miss him.” It was as simple as that. Less than a day had passed since he’d left earth, yet he already felt as though years had passed since the last time he saw Alfred, since he heard him laugh or saw him smile, saw the way his eyes lit up behind his glasses or that ridiculous cowlick that made him lose a little more control than he would otherwise.

Romulus didn’t respond to his admittance, instead retrieving his own wand and turning to the fireplace. A fire burned there only moments later, then the brunet got up and went into the kitchen. Arthur heard cabinets open and close, heard the older Angel humming to himself. His green eyes fell closed and he took a deep breath, trying to pretend he was sitting on Alfred’s couch, that the humming was the blue-eyed blond as he made dinner.

“Here we are.”

The voice drew him out of his thoughts and Arthur opened his eyes to find Romulus offering him a cup of fresh tea, which he accepted. “Thank you.”

Smiling, Romulus returned to his chair and settled comfortably. “Of course, my old friend.”

It was quiet as Arthur sipped his tea, both of the men staring into the fire as if it could answer all the questions they might come up with. But it simply crackled and popped softly, adding a warm glow to the room as it steadily grew darker outside. There were probably countless important matters that Romulus had to attend to, yet there he was, wasting away the hours in silence as Arthur slowly drank his tea and tried not to let himself feel too lonely now that he was home. It was surprisingly comfortable, sitting curled up in front of the fire, wrapped in the clothes he’d taken from Alfred’s apartment. He was surrounded by the American’s scent and couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for taking the clothes. It was the most he could do to keep Alfred close to him while he was so far away.

“Romulus?”

“Yes?”

Arthur hesitated. “Will I be allowed to watch over Alfred the way I did Francis?”

“Are you sure you can handle going through that for a second time, Arthur?” the older Angel questioned, brown eyes concerned. “It’s not an easy thing to do. You remember the pain of watching Francis age and weaken. It will be worse to watch it happen to Alfred.”

“I know.” The words came out on a sigh and Arthur chewed his lip for a moment. “I know it’ll be hard. I know it will hurt and I will hate it, but I would hate even more to never see him again.”

Romulus smiled slightly. “I understand. Perhaps, when you are ready to return to work, we will discuss it at length and decide together what would be best.”

Deciding that was good enough for now, Arthur nodded. “Thank you, Romulus.”

A kind smile appeared on the older Angel’s face and he stood. “You’re welcome, Arthur. I’m afraid I have to go—there are things I need to take care of—but Peter will be on his way back by now. Sleep well, my friend.”

“Good night.”

Then the Angel was gone, and Arthur was alone in his living room once again. It didn’t feel so lonely now that there was a fire, and the tea had warmed him from the inside out—his heart hurt a little less, too. As Romulus predicted, Peter arrived only a few minutes later, dressed in the typical white nightgown Angels slept in, a pillow held to his chest.

Arthur smiled at the boy and rose from his chair, leaving the fire to burn itself out. In silence, he led Peter upstairs to his bedroom and let the boy get into bed while he changed. It was strange to put on the nightgown after so many nights sleeping in nothing but Alfred’s boxers. For his own comfort, he kept them on under his nightgown and slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Immediately, Peter sidled closer until he could wrap an arm around Arthur and hold close to him.

“I’m glad you’re home, Arthur,” he mumbled, already on the brink of sleep, and the green-eyed Angel smiled as he stroked the younger male’s soft hair.

“So am I, lad. So am I.” And, with Peter held close to him for warmth and comfort, Arthur closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, both hoping and dreading that he would dream of Alfred.

X

Once again, Alfred sat by himself at the small table in the security room, his face buried in his arms. He immersed himself in the dark and quiet, grateful that Lovino had agreed to watch a movie with Feliciano and Ludwig without putting up much of a fight this time. He really doubted he would be able to handle one of the moody Italian’s tantrums tonight.

The snow had started again and was quickly building up outside, so while they’d had little trouble making their first rounds of the night, it was going to be difficult to get the doors open in order to go out and patrol again. They were most likely going to spend the rest of the night indoors, which was fine with Alfred. Part of him knew that, if let outside unsupervised, he might start walking and just never stop until he found what he was looking for. Unfortunately, he knew that what he would go in search of wasn’t on this planet anymore.

_It isn’t fair. He should have talked to me. He should have told me he was leaving. We could have worked things out. Visits and such. I wouldn’t mind that, if I got to see him a couple times a week. That would be all right. It would be enough. It would be better than just disappearing without a trace or a goodbye._

A gentle hand on his shoulder brought Alfred out of his own thoughts enough for him to look up, and he found that his friends and coworkers were looking at him in concern. “What?”

“Are you all right, _mi amigo?_ ” Antonio asked, clearly worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It was a lie and he knew it but Alfred didn’t care. He couldn’t very well tell them that his Angel almost-lover had up and left him last night. No way. “Just tired.”

“You didn’t sleep well last night?” Feliciano was frowning slightly, his hand still on Alfred’s shoulder. The American shook his head in response. “Why not?”

He paused, searching for a suitable answer. “Arthur left.”

Understanding lit the four pairs of eyes that watched him so closely, and Alfred knew right away that they could see straight through him. It was obvious that he was miserable without the green-eyed man, that he missed Arthur and wanted him back with all his heart. But what they didn’t realize was that Arthur was _gone,_ was back in heaven where Angels belonged, not simply on his way back to England, where they thought he lived.

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” the Italian sympathized, offering what was meant to be a comforting smile. “Ve…will he come back to see you?”

Alfred shrugged. “Dunno. He didn’t say. Just had to go back so he could get back to work.” That, at least, was true.

“I’m sure he misses you, too, and if he cares about you as much as you care about him, then of course he’ll be back, _il mio amico._ ”

The bespectacled blond did his best to smile. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Thanks, Feli.”

Pleased that he’d at least helped a little, Feliciano nodded and patted Alfred’s shoulder before getting up and going back to the couch with Ludwig and Lovino. Al let a small sigh escape him and rested his cheek on his arm. He wanted to believe that Arthur would come back and see him, that the Angel missed him, too. But he couldn’t bring himself to hope, because if he let himself hope for something that never happened, it would break him.

Still, he wanted to believe it could happen, that one day he’d wake up or come home from work and there he would be, green-eyed and smiling, happy to see Alfred again. Alfred wanted that with all his being.


	31. Chapter 31

It was uncomfortably quiet and yet not quiet enough. If a pin had dropped, Alfred was sure that he would have been able to hear it hit the floor. He wanted something to happen. Anything. Just something to alleviate the boredom that threatened to crush him.

A heavy sigh escaped the blond as he lounged on the couch. The TV remote was in his hand, his grip relaxed as he slowly flipped through the channels. One of his legs was thrown over the armrest as his other hung off the side of the couch so his foot rested on the floor. The hand that wasn’t holding the remote was tucked between his head and the other armrest, propping it up so he could see the TV screen. He’d turned the volume down until it was muted—he had no interest in listening to the countless commercials and game shows that flashed before his eyes. Only a few seconds was given to each channel before it was abandoned in favor of the next.

Soap opera.

Jeopardy.

Basketball game.

Car commercial.

Cooking show.

Ugh. None of them looked even a little bit interesting.

Alfred sighed again and picked his muscular frame up off the couch to move closer to the TV. Kneeling, he opened the little cabinet doors to peer at the rows of DVD and videogame cases. Maybe a movie would distract him, something fast and exciting; his gaze landed on his collection of _Avengers_ movies and he instantly remembered watching them with Arthur. The Angel had hardly moved during that marathon, remaining cuddled into Alfred’s side. That was the day he’d built the blanket fort, just a little while after Ivan broke Arthur’s wing and Alfred was doing everything he could to make the petite man feel better.

Loneliness swept over him, replacing the happiness the memory had granted him for those few moments when he imagined the Angel was still there, sitting on the couch, patiently waiting for Alfred to choose what they would watch next.

“Damn it,” the blond muttered, rubbing a hand over his face as if to erase the image. Arthur was gone and he needed to get that through his head or he was never going to be able to move on or be happy. It had only been a few days since the Angel had disappeared, but Alfred still caught himself hoping he would walk into his apartment after work in the mornings and the green-eyed man would be there, smiling and apologetic that he’d vanished without saying goodbye. He was always greeted by an empty apartment and disappointing silence.

Alfred didn’t bother looking over his videogames to see if any caught his interest. He already knew they wouldn’t, and each of his books had been tossed aside earlier. There was nothing in his apartment that he felt like doing, and it was too cold outside to go for a walk. He wasn’t hungry or tired so bored eating or napping was out of the question. It almost felt like the world had ceased to turn within the confines of his simple living space and he was stuck in a moment of time along with it.

The TV screen went dark with the push of a button and Alfred set down the remote before lying back to sprawl out on his living room floor. Blue eyes stared at the ceiling without seeing it and Alfred imagined the sky above was a clear blue instead of the sulking gray clouds he knew were outside. In his head, the sky was blue and beautiful, clear. Perfect for Arthur to fly without worrying about lightning.

“I miss you,” the American said out loud as if the Angel could hear him. “Every moment of every day. I missed you even while you were here. Being away from you almost hurt. I loved you right from the start, Artie. Maybe I didn’t realize it right away, but even when I first laid eyes on you in that grimy alleyway, I thought you were attractive.” He laughed a little.

“That isn’t the right word, is it. You were dirty and hurt and unconscious and I didn’t care. You were beautiful then, just like you’re beautiful now. I miss seeing you smile, the way your bangs fall in front of your eyes sometimes. Such an amazing color. Deep green. Like emeralds or clovers. I don’t know if I ever told you how much I like your eyes, but damn, Artie, you have amazing eyes. I’ve never seen more beautiful eyes in my life. Hell, I sound like a huge sap but I don’t care. You’re beautiful and I love every piece of you. I know saying things like this would have made you blush. If you were here, you’d blush and smack my arm, accuse me of flattery, tell me to shut up and probably call me a git, whatever a git is. You never told me, but I guess it’s some slang you picked up at some point.”

He blinked slowly and breathed deeply, wondering if, somewhere, wherever heaven was, Arthur was happy.

“Did you get your wand back? I hope so. You were so worried about it when you woke up that first day and I really hope you got it back. You’re probably wearing togas again, too. I bet you look great in them, though I’m gonna miss seeing you dressed in my clothes.”

Embarrassment leaked into the bespectacled man’s tone but he kept talking.

“You always looked so cute in my boxers and hoodies. You were always cute, even when you were angry. Even when you thought I hurt you or kidnapped you or whatever, your messy hair and big green eyes had me. I woulda done anything for you. Remember the morning after that thunderstorm, when we fell asleep on the couch together? You were so scared that I hated myself for leaving you alone. I know you’re an Angel and you’re stronger than me and all that, but I can’t help feeling protective. And when we woke up ‘cause of the power coming on and the TV was so damn loud, you were adorable. I know you didn’t mean to but you seduced me in moments. I wanted to kiss you, wanted to do more than kiss you, and it wasn’t the first time. I wanna kiss you every time I look at you. I never wanna let go of you.

“I should, I know. I should move on, keep doing what I was doing before you came along. But I don’t want to, Artie. I don’t want to go back to that, so I’m stuck. Everyone is moving forward but me. Antonio and Lovino are engaged. Ludwig is probably gonna ask Feliciano soon—they’re practically married, anyway. Even Ivan has that Toris guy. I hope they’re doing well. Ivan seemed happy with him. They all know that you’re gone, but they think you just went back to England. They can tell how much I miss you even though I keep telling them I’m fine. I’m lucky to have them as my friends. They’re trying really hard to cheer me up.

“What about you? Are your friends happy to have you back? I would be, if I was them. God, I miss you. I want you to come back, to walk in that door right now, smiling like always, lay down next to me and let me cuddle you for hours, promise to never leave me again. I’m selfish, Artie. I want you here, forever, all to myself. I want kisses in the mornings and movie marathons, walks to our bench. I want those amazing eyes to be the first thing I see when I wake up. I want your hand in mine, your soft, pale, delicate little fingers wound through mine so I know you’re there.”

There was a pause as he swallowed, his emotions almost getting the better of him.

“Is it bad for me to want that? Saying it, I sound selfish, like a greedy little kid. Maybe I am selfish. Maybe I am greedy, but I can’t help it. I miss every bit of you and I want you back. It hurts to be alone again. I wish you’d said goodbye or at least told me when you were going to leave. Coming home and suddenly you were gone…”

Alfred sighed before smiling.

“I’m glad you’re back where you belong. Heaven is for you and I’m stuck here for a while longer. But, you know, I sorta had this little fantasy about us. Nothing dirty. I just pictured us living together, leaving the city, getting a little place out in the country. We could leave the state, if we wanted, go somewhere with nice weather and live away from other people so you could fly as much as you wanted. I don’t know what I’d do for money, but I’ve always wanted to write a book about the military. If I did that, we could be okay. I’d find something to do. I like to think you woulda decorated the house—you probably have a better sense for that sort of thing than I do. It’s just a simple little fantasy, but…thinking about it makes me happy.”

He actually felt a little better to have said it all out loud, even if Arthur wasn’t there to tease him about being a big softie. That wasn’t the point. After weeks of the Angel’s presence and only those pitifully few days of being openly in love with him, Alfred enjoyed a sense of relief to admit his private fantasy about the life they could have had.

X

With a hand pressed over his mouth, Arthur held back tears and struggled not to make a sound. He hadn’t been expecting that at all. It caught him off-guard to hear Alfred pour his heart out.

_He doesn’t even know I can hear him._

There were other Angels nearby but Arthur paid them no mind. He wasn’t worried about being interrupted. Earth-gazing was a common pastime, so even though his fellows thought he would be tired of earth after being stuck there, they let him alone as he sat by one of the small window-like structures set into the floor. Originally, the purpose of earth-gazing had been to keep an eye on the humans that had been visited, to see if they were doing well or needed further assistance. Now, many Angels watched earth in their free time. The ever-changing lives of humans fascinated those who were dead.

Arthur had gone there in order to see Alfred. In all honesty, he’d wanted to come here and earth-gaze almost since the moment he’d gotten back to heaven. The only reason he’d waited these few earthdays was because he didn’t know if he could bear to see Alfred’s initial reaction to the Angel leaving. It would have hurt too much to see the blond human so upset, so he’d stayed away.

But now, after telling the story of what happened to him the night he’d vanished more times than he cared to count, after being hugged and welcomed by nearly every Angel in heaven, he finally had the nerve to look down and see how Alfred was doing because he couldn’t resist any longer. He had to know.

And it looked like the American was doing…well enough. Arthur had watched him wander through the empty apartment, his expression one of someone who didn’t know what he was meant to do with himself. He’d watched as Alfred perused his small collection of books only to lose interest and instead watch TV. That source of entertainment hadn’t lasted long, either, but seeing him stretched out on the couch had made it all too easy for Arthur to imagine curling up next to the larger male to watch whatever happened to be on.

Trembling fingers reached out and touched the glass-like surface of the window, and Arthur sniffed quietly as he wiped his eyes. If he’d been on earth, the touch would have landed on Alfred’s cheek, but his fingertips made contact with the cold material and disappointment washed over him. Arthur’s heart hurt. Even though he was dead, his heart still beat and now it felt like it was being broken all over again, just as it had the night he’d saved Francis. Becoming an Angel had helped put it back together, but watching his first love grow old without him had been like a slow tear working its way through his most fragile of organs, one that took years of satisfying work protecting humans to heal. The tear that took place now was sudden and violent and for one illogical moment Arthur wondered if his heart might actually bleed from it. Certainly, it hurt enough for such a thing.

Everything Alfred had said, the things he’d admitted and described, pulled at the very fibers of Arthur’s being. Never in his existence had he wanted to be somewhere other than where he was so badly. Yes, after Ivan had broken his wing, he had wished desperately to be back in heaven where he could be healed and the pain taken away. The pain of a broken wing, though, was nothing compared to what he felt now as he stared hard at Alfred’s face, committing it to memory. His strong jaw and cheekbones, the way the corners of his mouth were almost permanently turned up as if the bespectacled man was constantly on the verge of grinning or laughing. His eyes were closed and Arthur wished he would open them so he could see those deep blue orbs and pretend that Alfred could see him, too.

Leaning close to the window, Arthur brushed his lips against the cool surface and tried hard to pretend that Alfred could feel it. “I love you, too,” he breathed, the warm air fogging just slightly and distorting the otherwise perfect image of Alfred’s face.

_And I miss you. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. If I’d tried, I wouldn’t have been able to leave. It had to be this way, Alfie. Staying with you would only have worked for so long—eventually, I would have given in and lost my wings for the sake of making love with you. And then I would probably never get to see you again. But this way, this way I can watch you from afar and make sure you’ll always be all right, Alfred. I’ll be your personal Guardian Angel whether Romulus approves or not._

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Alfred,” the Angel whispered, resting his forehead against the window. “I promise.”

“What are doing, Arthur?”

Startled, the green-eyed Angel froze. “Just looking.” His tone was light and he quickly adjusted the view of the window so that it showed Alfred as if looking down on him from the ceiling before he sat up straight again.

“You looked sad.” The other Angel moved to sit next to the window as well, blue-violet eyes curiously peering at the image. “Who’s that?”

A fond smile appeared on Arthur’s face before he could stop it. “Alfred F. Jones.”

“Oh.”

It was easy to tell that the other Angel was concealing his emotions—Angels tended to do that out of habit, after all, since they were so adept at sensing the emotions of those around them. Sometimes the emotions of others proved to be a distraction, so over time they learned self-restraint. Arthur wasn’t much older than the Angel who had decided to join him—only a couple hundred years or so—but he was much better at identifying and hiding emotions than his companion was.

“Are you going to ask or are you going to pretend you already know?” he asked, amused. The younger Angel started then blushed, all pretenses falling away; Arthur clearly felt his curiosity and also his anxiety that he was being a nuisance.

“Sorry, Arthur.” He was embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but you looked as if you might start to cry if you weren’t distracted.”

“It’s all right, Matthew. Perhaps I did need someone to distract me. As silly as it is, I was talking to Alfred.”

Matthew relaxed at the assurance that he wasn’t bothering the green-eyed Angel. “Why? Who is he?”

“He’s the human who found me and took care of me while I was on earth.”

Interest lit up Matthew’s eyes and he leaned forward to get a better look at the image in the window, long blond hair falling into his face slightly. “I wondered what he looked like. He’s handsome.”

“Yes,” Arthur was quiet, “he is. He’s a wonderful person. I miss him.”

Smiling, Matthew lifted a hand and gently touched Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m sure he misses you, too, but he must have understood that you couldn’t stay.”

It was all Arthur could do to nod. If he’d opened his mouth to speak, there was no knowing what he would have said. He suddenly found himself with the desire to confide everything in Matthew, for no reason other than that he didn’t want to have to hide the fact that he’d fallen in love with Alfred. To do so would be a bad idea and Arthur knew it, but that didn’t make the desire go away. Matthew was quiet and kind, one of the most patient, understanding, caring beings that Arthur had ever met. He was sure the blond wouldn’t judge him for his emotions, but he bit his tongue and kept quiet. There was no reason to tell Matthew anything, not when Romulus already knew. But Romulus had many responsibilities and Arthur hadn’t had another chance to see the brunet Angel since his first night back.

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“You’re crying. Are you all right?”

Crying? Arthur lifted a hand and touched his cheek. Sure enough, his fingers encountered a wetness that could only mean tears had formed and escaped without him noticing.

“O-oh, yes, I’m fine.” He offered a weak smile and wiped his eyes. “I was just thinking how upset Alfred must be with me. I didn’t tell him I was leaving, so I’m sure he’s a tad miffed.”

A confused frown put creases in Matthew’s forehead and he tilted his head to one side. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

_Because I would have stayed. I couldn’t do it. It hurt too much to leave while he was at work. If I had to see the look on his face, if I had to hear him say goodbye…I…_

Arms wrapped around him in a hug and before Arthur knew it he was all but clinging to Matthew’s slightly larger frame. Other Angels were beginning to look over at them in concern, but they kept their distance once they realized it was Arthur who was so upset.

“I-I’m sorry, Matthew,” the green-eyed Angel eventually forced out, pulling out of the hug as soon as he started to regain control of his breathing. “There’s no reason for me to act like this. It’s just that…I care for Alfred a great deal and I know it hurt him for me to leave so suddenly. I feel terrible about the whole thing, which is why I came to check on him. I wanted to make sure he was doing well.”

Matthew smiled. “I understand, Arthur. Is Alfred all right?”

“Yes.” Arthur turned his gaze to the window once more and smiled to see that Alfred had fallen asleep on his living room floor.

_The silly man. He should have just gone to bed._

“I think he’ll be fine.”

“Then would you like to come visit for a little while?” the other Angel asked, his tone hopeful. “Gilbert won’t stop pestering me to invite you over now that he knows you’re back. He wants to hear about your ‘daring adventure’ on earth.” He rolled his eyes as he said it, but there was a fondness in his voice and expression that betrayed him.

For a moment, Arthur didn’t move, green eyes locked on Alfred’s peaceful expression. Then, slowly, he let the image fade until the window was blank. “Yes, I’d love to, though I’m afraid Gilbert won’t be very entertained to hear about the weeks I spent hiding away in Alfred’s apartment.”

At the same time, the two Angels stood and left the pavilion, sandaled feet making hardly a sound on the grass.

“That’s all right. He was really worried about you, even though he won’t admit it. I think he just wants to make sure you’re actually okay,” Matthew explained, and Arthur nodded. That sounded like something Gilbert would do. The albino Angel wasn’t very good at admitting when he was worried or afraid.

“Either way, I would enjoy spending time with the two of you. You’ll have to tell me what I missed while I was gone.” Even as he said it, Arthur knew there wouldn’t be much news from heaven to interest him. Already, his thoughts were growing distant. As much as he wanted to see Gilbert and talk with Matthew, a large part of him had stayed at the pavilion and was still using the window to watch Alfred sleep.


	32. Chapter 32

Seven pairs of eyes were trained on him and Arthur struggled not to squirm in his seat. They examined him, searching for signs that there was anything amiss about the golden blond Angel.

Normally, being summoned by the Council was nothing to worry about, but this time was different. This time wasn’t about a new child who needed special attention or that they’d lost one of his. This time, Arthur had been summoned to the Council Chamber for the singular purpose of telling these seven Angels exactly what had transpired while he was on earth.

Arthur had never been so nervous in his existence.

These were the Angels who would determine what would be done with him and Arthur wished the meeting was already over. It made him uncomfortable to be under the watch of so many eyes, especially since he was still used to only being around Alfred, and the American’s gaze had never been so calculating as the eyes that watched him now.

_It’s all right. I can do this. They can’t stop me from watching him._

“Arthur Kirkland,” a familiar voice sounded, and Arthur lifted green eyes to look straight to the front of the room. There, on a seat raised higher than the other members of the Council, sat Romulus. He was impressive in his robes, his expression and posture serious and focused. Green eyes met brown and Arthur pleaded silently for mercy, for Romulus to step in on his behalf—there was no sign that the older Angel understood.

“You have been summoned by the High Council to attest and describe the events pertaining to the time you spent on earth. All questions are to be answered in complete honesty. Hide nothing. Do you understand?”

It was completely silent as the Council waited for Arthur’s response.

“Yes,” he eventually answered, tone calm, “I understand.”

“Very good.” Romulus took a moment to settle in his chair, gaze passing over the other occupants of the room. “Describe the events of the night you were stranded.”

“I was struck by lightning while returning to heaven.”

A low murmur went around the room. “Show us,” one of the Angels commanded.

At a nod from Romulus, Arthur rose from his seat and slid his toga strap from his shoulder so that the cloth fell to hang at his waist, baring his torso. He made a slow round of the room, wings spread to display the scar that marred his upper back. The sight was greeted with smothered gasps and whispers in languages he didn’t understand, though he hadn’t expected his superiors to react any differently. Once he had finished, Arthur fixed his toga and resumed his seat to wait for the next question.

“How did you manage to escape human notice?”

“My wound left me unconscious—I have no memory of falling. When I woke again, I was in a bedroom.”

The word had an obvious affect on the members of the High Council and Arthur understood why completely. Waking up in a strange bedroom could have easily led to the violation of his body and mind. It was lucky that he’d been found by someone as kind and pure as Alfred. But Arthur didn’t like that the Angels surrounding him thought Alfred had taken advantage of him or that the American would ever harm anyone. It simply wasn’t in the bespectacled man’s character and he wanted the High Council to know that.

“No harm was done to me. The human, Alfred, had found me unconscious in an alleyway during the early morning while on his way home from work. He took me to his apartment and cleaned me up before nursing my wound. He gave up his bed so that I might be more comfortable, and slept on the couch.”

A sense of relief replaced the anxiety that had been filling the Council Chamber and Romulus gave Arthur a look to signal him to continue.

“Alfred took care of me. He gave me free reign in his apartment, cooked for me and even bought special food to make me feel more comfortable. He continued to sleep on the couch and changed my bandages regularly to keep them from getting too dirty. I will never be able to thank him for everything he did for me.” Affection leaked into his tone, but Arthur didn’t try to stop it. He knew the other Angels could sense what he was feeling—it was considered rude to hide emotions from the High Council during a meeting, so he let everything out without holding back. If his superiors wanted to know what happened while he was on earth, then they were going to know it inside and out.

“Romulus told us that your wing was broken. How did that happen, if this Alfred took such cares with you?” one of the Angels asked. He had a rather severe looking face, and long, straight blond hair that fell past his shoulders.

The question unleashed Arthur’s memories of that night, and his voice quieted. “For as wonderful a person as Alfred is, his history is painful. He is a veteran, and the victim of an abusive relationship. When he rescued me, he was still in the process of cutting ties with his former partner. This man discovered where Alfred works and followed him home one night. I’m not sure what all happened—I was asleep when he arrived—but I was woken by shouting and discovered the man trying to force Alfred to leave with him.”

The green-eyed Angel’s voice quieted even more, becoming a deadly whisper as his anger flared. “I couldn’t let him just take Alfred away. He was terrified and fighting, but he wasn’t strong enough to resist. When I interrupted, the man accused me of being Alfred’s new lover. But he was still determined to take Alfred even after I told him to leave. When he tried to grab Alfred, I pushed him out of the way, and my wing was caught. Because he thought it was only a costume, the man twisted and yanked, snapping it here.” He paused, gesturing to the place where his wing had been broken and only healed for a short time.

“Alfred threw him out after that. He set my wing as gently as he could manage, splinted and bandaged it for me, and was even more careful with me for the next several days.”

“We are relieved that you have returned to us,” another of the Angels said. She was regal, dark-skinned and dark-haired with angular eyes. “You have our sympathy for the injuries you sustained.”

Arthur ducked his head in respect. “Thank you.” When he lifted his head, he met Romulus’ eyes and saw the conflict raging in the older Angel’s mind.

_He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to make me say it._

If Romulus let this be the end of it, the High Council would never know the extent of what had happened during Arthur’s time on earth. They wouldn’t know that he’d fallen in love with Alfred or that he had almost given up his wings for the human. But both Arthur and Romulus knew that the brunet would be failing in his position if he didn’t bring it to the attention of the Council. Several moments passed before a look of defeat came onto his face—there was an apology in his eyes. Arthur tried to communicate that it was okay, that he understood even though it was difficult not to flinch at what he knew was coming.

“Do you have any other events of importance to report, Arthur?” the head Angel asked, voice softer than it had been at the beginning of the meeting.

Lowering his gaze, Arthur stared at his hands, clasped in his lap so that he wouldn’t fidget. This was it. The next thing he said would throw the Council into chaos.

“Alfred saved me. He took care of me, made me welcome in his home and treated me with kindness and respect. In all my years, I have never met a human like him. He is smart and kind and clever and has a wonderful sense of humor, and he made me feel truly loved for the first time since my death.”

The tension in the room was mounting. They knew where he was going with this but no one wanted to ask. They all hoped he wouldn’t say it, and Arthur knew that. Part of him didn’t want to say it, either, but he had to. So he took a deep breath and lifted his chin. His voice was clear and strong, bare of any hesitation or shame.

“I fell in love with him.”

Silence greeted his announcement. One second. Two. Three seconds went by and then voices began to sound on both sides of the room. Mutters quickly grew into shouts. The Council dissolved into chaos, just as Arthur had known it would. He’d just admitted a serious transgression to the laws of heaven, after all. Worse, he was unapologetic about what he’d done and even as his superiors argued around him, he kept his gaze on Romulus.

The brunet had yet to move, though he’d already known so it wasn’t a surprise to him as it was to the other six Angels who made up the High Council. Slowly, Romulus stood and lifted one hand—the chamber was silent within moments as all eyes turned to him.

“This is a very serious matter,” he began softly, tucking his hands into the folds of his robes, “and not one that should be given a hasty response. Arthur, please wait outside while the other Council members and I discuss what is to be done. We will call for you when we have reached our decision.”

Arthur didn’t like to hear his friend using such formal tones, but he knew it was necessary. Romulus was the head Angel and therefore had responsibilities that could not be ignored or given to anyone else. Even though, at that moment, he wanted to be wrapped in a hug and hide away in those huge brown robes, forget about the judging stares and whispers of the Council members, he merely nodded and rose from his seat once more. He didn’t look at his feet, he didn’t lower his gaze or glance around with an apologetic expression.

_There’s nothing wrong with being in love. Love is important. It’s the basis of everything we do. I won’t be ashamed of being in love._

With deliberate steps, the golden blond left the Council Chamber, his back straight and chin up until the doors shut behind him. Only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding. His shoulders drooped and he leaned back against the wooden doors, a hand over his eyes. The relief of being away from the most powerful Angels to ever exist washed over him and he could feel his legs trembling under his weight. He hadn’t felt such strong judgment since…

_Don’t think about that, Arthur. That was a long, long time ago, and these are completely different circumstances. Angels are benevolent and understanding. Romulus will make them understand, he’ll make them see._

At least, he hoped. There was only so much Romulus could do if he disagreed with the decision of the High Council, after all. He carried a lot of weight, but when it came down to it, there would be a vote. It would have to be unanimous, but there would be a vote all the same. And Arthur wouldn’t get to know anything that was said until the decision was announced. They would explain their reasoning to him, as was only fair, but once the Council came to a decision, there was nothing to be done. That would be the end of it.

A shuddering sigh escaped him and Arthur let his hand fall to his side. The only thing left to do was wait, so he moved away from the doors and instead occupied one of the stone benches set near the Chamber. There was no way of telling how long it would take for the Council to make their decision. It could be a few minutes or several hours. Considering how serious of a topic this was, Arthur was willing to bet it would take quite a while.

It was hours. Only two or three, but hours all the same. Arthur hated every moment of it, thought it took much too long. He fidgeted and shifted on the bench, trying to relax and find a comfortable position. Before he could, the doors to the Chamber opened. No voice called to him, there was no one to gesture to him or summon him to come back inside. But Arthur knew that it was time to present himself to the Council.

So he sighed and stood, slowly made his way into the Chamber. The doors closed behind him without being touched—he wasn’t quite used to having magic again. The Council members’ eyes followed him as he walked to the awaiting chair and sat there once more.

“Arthur Kirkland, Angel Third Class,” Romulus called out, his voice carrying despite his soft tone, “the High Council has reached its decision.”

Was he supposed to respond to that? He wasn’t sure. But they were looking at him like they were waiting, so he straightened his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

It was almost a lie. As much as he wanted to know, as impatient as he’d been while waiting, Arthur was all too aware that he might be told something he didn’t want to hear, and he wasn’t ready for that.

“It is the will of the Council, by unanimous vote, that your affections for the human Alfred Jones be contained until the time of his death. For your own safety, you will not be allowed contact with him.”

_For my own safety._

Of course that was the decision they’d come to. He’d told this to Alfred, hadn’t he? Or had he only thought about it? It didn’t matter, he supposed. Whether he had or not didn’t change the fact that the high council had decided that he was never to see Alfred again.

He wasn’t surprised, but it wasn’t what Arthur wanted to hear.

“Why?”

Flawless faces frowned in confusion at the golden blond Angel’s question.

“Arthur,” Romulus’ tone was placating, but Arthur wasn’t prepared to listen to reason. Didn’t they understand how much it hurt him to leave earth in the first place? In all their wisdom, couldn’t they see that he cared about Alfred more than he cared about himself, more than he cared about the rules Angels were supposed to live by, more than what the Council thought was best for him to do?

“For my own bloody _safety._ ” It was infuriating. What did they think was going to happen if he decided to visit the American again? Alfred knew he couldn’t have sex and he was fine with that. It wasn’t like the taller blond was going to rape him.

The mere thought that someone might accuse Alfred of rape made Arthur’s hands shake and he clenched them into tight fists. “Alfred isn’t dangerous. He would never do anything to hurt me.” His tone wasn’t nearly as calm as it had been only moments ago.

“It’s not what Alfred might do that concerns us, Arthur,” Romulus stated, standing once more as confused-angry-sad green eyes stared up at him. “Our decision is based entirely on whether or not we believe that you will be able to maintain control over yourself if you are allowed to visit with the human you’ve fallen in love with. You know the rules that an Angel must follow. It is not difficult to imagine that Alfred might tempt you to break them.”

“He’s already tempted me!” The shout burst from Arthur before he could stop it and he suddenly found himself standing, though he hadn’t decided to stand up and couldn’t remember doing so. “I’m a bloody adult, Romulus! I’ve been thinking and feeling for over five hundred years! Alfred loves me—he knows I can’t make love with him and he would never pressure me to do so, and I could barely kiss him without wishing I was human! I bloody well _know_ that I can’t be with him the way I want to!”

Several of the Council members gasped and a few even stood up.

“It’s more serious than we thought, then.”

“He’s kissed the human. What more has he done?”

Arthur turned pain-filled eyes on his superiors but refused to flinch under the judging, pitying stares. “Yes, I kissed him. How could I not? Being in love is such an overwhelming feeling…and knowing that he loves me, too…” his voice cracked, and he paused a moment to clear his throat. “Please. Don’t do this. I know the rules and I won’t break them. Just…don’t make me wait for him to die. I can’t go through that again.”

Tears were threatening to spill over and drip down his cheeks but the petite Angel did his best to hold them back. Crying would do little to convince the High Council to rescind the decision they had made.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” There was genuine regret in Romulus’ voice, and Arthur looked up at his friend as the first few tears escaped. “The High Council has reached its decision—you will not be allowed to see Alfred again.”

But…no! He had to see him! He had to go back to their hill and visit the tree in the spring and summer, he had to take back the clothes he’d borrowed! So maybe he wasn’t quite brave enough to face Alfred again just yet, but he at least wanted the choice to do so in the future. They couldn’t take that away from him!

Refusals and curses and protests and pleas filled Arthur’s mind so quickly that they all jumbled together until he wouldn’t have been able to form a coherent sentence if he’d wanted to. The tears fell freely now, the Angel not having the will to keep them under control—too many emotions were raging through him, all released at once after he’d been holding them back for so long. He was shaking, wings half spread to wrap around himself and hide or fly away and escape or maybe just because he needed to feel a little bit bigger than he actually was so that this wouldn’t be so overpowering.

He’d never felt so conflicted about the Council before. They were supposed to be a source of guidance, they were supposed to help the Angels with their duties, supposed to keep heaven in peace. It was their job to choose which humans would be given the opportunity to become Angels, and their responsibility to take care of anyone who broke the few rules they had. Always, they’d seemed fair and just, and he’d never had a complaint about how things were done. But now, now he all but hated them. He hated the way they looked at him with pity and sympathy and sorrow. There was nothing to pity! He was in love, not dying! How could they be so cruel as to punish him for something like love?!

Arthur wanted to demand the answer to that question, but his mouth refused to work, doing little more than opening partially then snapping shut as his teeth ground together and his jaw clenched. Frustration joined the other emotions raging through him until he couldn’t handle it anymore. He bolted, fleeing the Council Chamber and running to he didn’t know where. Some place far away from the Council, from the other Angels where he could be alone and just think for a little while. The Council would undoubtedly enforce their decision, and while he wasn’t sure how exactly they might do so, he knew there had to be a way around whatever method they chose.

Whether the Council liked it or not, if he was ever ready to face Alfred, then he would do so.


	33. Chapter 33

It wasn’t snowing today. Rather, the sky was a clear, ice blue and nearly devoid of clouds. There was a slight breeze, but it was soft and not biting like winter winds usually were, and ruffled the bits of blond hair that stuck out from under the stocking cap Alfred was wearing to protect his ears. The American was all bundled up in a thick winter coat, hat, scarf and gloves. The scarf was pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, so his breath didn’t manage to escape in foggy puffs but rather was stifled by the fabric.

Even in late November, the cold barely reached him through all his layers of protection. He’d dressed this way with the intent of walking nearly a mile before it got dark, but he’d gotten distracted. The park had beckoned and he hadn’t been able to resist. So there he was at the top of the hill, sitting on the bench he’d had to clear of snow. The tree stood tall and proud behind him despite the fact that it no longer bore its colorful leaves. A few birds broke cover and flew above the other trees in the park, calling to each other. Nothing else moved save for the branches in the wind. It was almost too peaceful to be real.

_Arthur…_

Naturally, he was thinking about the Angel. How could he not, while he was on their hill? This was his first time visiting since Arthur had left, and despite the peace of his surroundings, there was an ache in Alfred’s chest that he had only one explanation for. He missed him, missed his playful sarcasm, his child-like giddiness at getting to play in the snow and go home for hot cocoa. Sure, his admittance of his feelings to his living room had helped, but he really wished he’d have been able to look into Arthur’s eyes and tell him everything.

A soft chuckle escaped the scarf and Alfred leaned back on the bench, letting his eyes fall closed behind his glasses. He could take a nap there, if he wanted, but he couldn’t stay long. He had places to be, after all. It was Antonio’s turn to host the get-together on their night off, so he was supposed to be walking to the Spaniard’s flat. He wasn’t worried about being a little late.

“It’s lonely, Arthur. I don’t go out much. I never did, cause working overnights makes it hard to have a social life. That’s why it’s lucky I work with my friends. But I’m still lonely when I get home and there’s no one there. I used to love having the apartment to myself, when I first moved in and was finally getting away from Ivan. Now it’s just…empty. I miss your laugh. I miss seeing your eyes light up whenever you get to try some weird human thing that you’ve never gotten to do before. The bed’s cold without you. I don’t like sleeping by myself, but at least the nightmares have stayed away. That meadow you gave me is perfect.”

The blue-eyed blond smiled behind his scarf and shifted his coat to sit a little more comfortably on his shoulders.

“I wish you’d come back. Just for a visit. I know you can’t stay. But if you could come for a night or two, or maybe just to spend time with me before I go to work, I’d be happy. We wouldn’t have to do anything—just cuddle, talk, maybe kiss a little. That’s it. I just want to see you.

“You know, I realized this morning that, even though you lived with me for over a month, I don’t have any pictures of you. No pictures or notes or anything. There’s no proof that you were here at all. I don’t have your old toga or sandals since we threw them out. All I have is that leftover tea that you didn’t drink, and hell, I’m not gonna drink it. Can you believe that, though? Over a month, and I didn’t think to get my camera out even once. Maybe it doesn’t matter. You probably wouldn’t have let me take pictures of you because of your wings, or maybe because you don’t think you’re good-looking and would have been too shy to let me.”

He chuckled to think of the protests the Angel would have offered to hear that.

“I could tell, you know, that you don’t think you’re good-looking. But you are, Artie. You’re beautiful. I said it before and I’ll say it every day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes to make you believe me. Your eyes are incredible, the perfect shade of green to contrast how pale you are, and the golden tones in your hair. I don’t even count the way you glow as part of it because that was just because you’re an Angel. Even without the glow, you’re the most beautiful man I’d ever met. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. And if you don’t believe me, then think about Francis. You told me he saw beauty in everything and had a fine taste. So he must have known you’re beautiful, too, and don’t you dare try to tell me I’m wrong. Francis thought you were beautiful, and so do I.”

Standing, he turned and looked up at the tree. It was easy to imagine Arthur, in a toga and sandals, perching on one of the larger branches, his ankles crossed as they hung below him, wings partially spread for balance as he smiled and waved, happy. It made the pain in his chest worse and he coughed to avoid letting his emotions get the better of him. No way was he going to start crying.

Alfred turned and began making his way down the hill before his imagination could run away with him, back towards the sidewalks that had been cleared again after the most recent snowfall. The sun would be going down soon—already, the sky was starting to darken towards the east—so he needed to get to Antonio’s in decent time. If he stayed out past dark, it could get too cold for him and he’d get sick.

So he left the park and turned down the street, taking the familiar route to Antonio’s studio flat. It was nearly half a mile away from the park, but he managed to reach it in just under twenty minutes by keeping up a brisk pace, and he only slipped on the icy sidewalks two or three times. At least he didn’t fall.

The door opened almost immediately when he knocked and he was greeted by a grinning Spaniard, Antonio wasting no time in stepping to the side.

“Come in, Alfred! We were wondering where you’d gone to!”

Offering an apologetic smile, Alfred stepped past the brunet and removed his scarf as Antonio shut the door against the cold. “Sorry, I got a little distracted.”

“By what, _amigo?_ ” There was curiosity in his tone and Alfred shrugged embarrassedly.

“I stopped by the park and visited Arthur’s favorite spot.”

“Ah.” Sympathy replaced the curiosity in the green eyes that were vivid but not as bright as Arthur’s—Alfred almost had a hard time looking at them. “You still miss him.”

Alfred nodded. “Yeah.”

How could he not? But he didn’t say anything more and Antonio didn’t push it, choosing instead to move farther into the flat. As soon as he’d rid himself of his coat, hat and gloves and put them away in the closet, Alfred followed him until they reached the area set up as the living room. Ludwig, Feliciano and Lovino were already there, naturally, since Lovino had been living with Toni for the last few months, and Ludwig was never late to anything. He’d probably been five minutes early just to be safe, and of course Feliciano lived with him and so had arrived at the same time.

“Ve~ _Ciao,_ Alfred!” the happy Italian greeted, and Alfred couldn’t help but smile back.

“How ya doin’, Feli?” he asked, dropping into one of the few unclaimed chairs.

Feliciano wiggled where he sat with Ludwig’s arm draped around his shoulders. “Great! Antonio’s letting me help him cook dinner—we’re having enchiladas!”

“ _Si,_ ” Antonio chuckled, absently running a hand through the hair on the back of Lovino’s head.

Oddly enough, the moodier Italian didn’t protest this, and Alfred could have sworn he saw the hint of a smile on his mouth. It was amazing how much calmer Lovino was now that he was engaged to Antonio. Alfred was willing to bet money on the fact that being proposed to had done wonders for the smaller brunet’s self-esteem and therefore made him less defensive. It was a possibility, at least. And while he was willing to bet money, he wasn’t willing to endanger his well-being by asking. No doubt, such a question would be unwelcome. Lovino’s mood hadn’t improved _that_ much.

“How have you been, Alfred?”

Summer sky met ice as Alfred and Ludwig looked at each other, and the American shrugged. “Fine.”

“You sound like zhere is somezhing on your mind.”

How the hell could he always tell that? The German almost seemed to have a sixth sense for these things and Alfred had the feeling those clear eyes could see right through him. Even though he was nearly the same age as Ludwig and hadn’t done anything to feel bad about, he had a hard time not looking away from the larger blond’s gaze. It was more intimidating than he usually realized.

_I wonder if Feli ever tries to keep secrets from him but just breaks down because he can’t stand that look._

Eventually, he looked away. “It’s nothing.”

“Tch,” Lovino’s arms crossed over his chest and he scowled, “burger bastard’s lying.”

“Am not,” the bespectacled male protested, not even bothered by being called “burger bastard” because he was used to it after knowing Lovino for so many years.

So what if he was still thinking about Arthur? He’d already told his friends how he felt and he didn’t want to be a bother by repeating himself a thousand times. It wouldn’t do any good so there was no point. They’d just get tired of hearing it and start telling him to get over it. The Angel was gone and that was it. Move on. Be happy with his life. So he kept his mouth shut because he didn’t want to hear any of that.

“Feliciano.” Stepping forward, Antonio smiled to break the mounting tension. “Come help me cook, _si?_ I’m sure we’ll all be hungry soon.”

Though he’d been looking worriedly between his friends, Feliciano brightened instantly and jumped up off the couch. “ _Si!_ ” Happy, he followed the taller brunet into the kitchen area and the two began gathering ingredients, chattering to each other in English, Spanish, and Italian. They soon broke into song, and Alfred chuckled as Lovino rolled his eyes.

“Antonio has a nice voice, don’t you think, Ludwig?”

The two blonds exchanged sly looks.

“ _Ja,_ he’s a very talented singer.”

Alfred sniggered. “Bet he sings in the shower.” Blue eyes turned to the Italian still sitting on the couch and Lovino scowled at the two blonds.

“What?”

“Does he?” Ludwig’s tone was politely curious.

The Italian’s scowl deepened. “Does who do what?” As if he hadn’t been listening to their conversation.

“Does Antonio sing in the shower?”

Hazel eyes glared at Alfred for daring to ask. “What do you care?”

“Oh come on, listen to him! He’s got a great voice. He definitely sings in the shower. Probably in Spanish.” A grin crept onto the American’s face. “Why’re you blushing like that? Oooh, he does, doesn’t he. He sings in Spanish all the time, and,” he paused, leaning forward to whisper teasingly, “you love it.”

The blush Alfred had commented on grew darker and Lovino tucked his chin against his collarbone defensively. “Sh-shut up, bastard!”

“Lovi~”

All three males turned to see Antonio peering at them from the kitchen doorway, grinning crookedly with one eyebrow raised. His gaze was focused on Lovino and the Italian began to sulk.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Did I say you did anything?” Antonio asked, tone innocent.

“N-no…” Lovino seemed to be melting under the green-eyed Spaniard’s gaze and it put a smirk on Alfred’s face—Ludwig did a better job of hiding his own grin.

A smile graced Antonio’s tanned face and he gestured for Lovino to come into the kitchen. “Come help your brother and I cook. We could use an extra set of talented hands.”

The compliment made Lovino’s face turn an even darker shade of red, but he didn’t argue as he got up and abandoned the living room in favor of the kitchen. Alfred and Ludwig watched him go and stifled laughter at the reprimanding look Antonio gave them before he too went back to cooking. Obviously, the Spaniard had overheard them and didn’t quite approve of the game they’d decided to play with his fiancé.

But now Lovino had been taken away from them—what were they supposed to do to entertain themselves?

Sighing, Alfred pushed himself off the chair and stretched a little. “You want a beer?”

“ _Ja, danke._ ”

With a nod, Alfred shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered into the kitchen, keeping out of the way of the two Italians and the Spaniard who were so hard at work preparing dinner for the five of them. “Smells good already, guys,” he complimented as he opened the fridge and grabbed a beer for himself and Ludwig.

Feliciano giggled, hands busy working some type of dough for the shells. “ _Grazie,_ Alfred.”

They exchanged smiles and then the American was back in the living room, handing one beer to Ludwig and keeping the other for himself as he dropped onto the edge of the abandoned sofa. It was quiet save for the sound of caps being popped, and the quiet continued as they drank.

“So.” Ludwig set his bottle on one of the coasters set out on the coffee table. “Tell me vhat’s bozhering you, Alfred.”

“I already told you, it’s nothing.” Alfred kept his gaze on his own bottle as he responded and took another drink.

_Nothing that you want to hear. I know I’m pathetic, okay? I miss him all the damn time and I talk like he can hear me so that I don’t feel so lonely. Anyone would think I’m going insane and I don’t care. Just let me be pathetic without making me admit it._

“ _Und_ I don’t believe you any more zhan Lovino did.”

His brow furrowed and Alfred let himself slide down on the couch a little more. “It’s stupid, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Is it about Arzhur?”

A few moments passed before Alfred nodded, still refusing to look at the German sitting only a few feet away. “It’s weird, him being gone. I’m just not used to it yet. I know he would have liked coming along to see you guys again, and I stopped by the park on my way here to visit his favorite spot to sit.” He laughed self-derisively and shook his head before taking a long drink of the bitter alcohol. “Pathetic.”

“ _Nein,_ not if you love him.” Ludwig’s tone was gentler than Alfred had been expecting and he looked up in mild surprise—he hadn’t said anything about loving the Angel. The taller blond smiled understandingly. “If Feliciano vent back to Italy and I couldn’t contact him…I vould be vorse zhan you are now. It’s not pazhetic to miss zhe vone you love, Alfred.”

It took a moment for the American respond. “How did you…?”

His confusion made Ludwig chuckle and the German reached over to pat his friend’s shoulder. “Ve all know, Alfred. It vas easy to tell vhen ve met him at your apartment zhat night. Zhe vay you look at him, how your voice changes vhen you talk to him or about him. Even now, vhen you zhink you’re pazhetic for missing him so much, I can tell. Don’t feel like you can’t talk to us, Alfred. Ve’re your friends. Ve’re here for you.”

“ _Si,_ he’s right,” a quiet voice added, and Alfred looked up to find that Antonio had silently moved into the living room. Lovino and Feliciano stood just behind him, nodding in agreement though they didn’t say anything. “We won’t make you talk to us, _amigo_ , but don’t keep it to yourself just because you don’t want to be a bother.”

“Ve~it’s all right to miss him,” Feliciano spoke quietly, and his brown eyes slid over to land on Ludwig. “We know how you feel.”

“ _Si._ ” Grudgingly, Lovino wrapped his arms around Antonio’s waist and held onto the Spaniard, his usual scowl vanishing to be replaced by a rare smile as he looked up at his fiancé.

At a loss for words, Alfred stared at his four friends. He hadn’t said a word about being in love with Arthur, even when the Angel first left, he’d held back that information. But they’d been able to tell anyway.

_Arthur had to know. Angels can sense emotion. I never had to tell him—he knew it all along._

His friends weren’t Angels and they’d known, too. No wonder they’d been so understanding through all of this. It had been a week since Arthur disappeared and it had amazed Alfred how sympathetic they’d been without pitying him. Even at work, when he didn’t feel up to patrolling, they weren’t harsh.

“Thanks, guys,” he managed eventually, smiling. “I know I should have said something sooner, but…well, we all know how stubborn I can be. But thanks. It means a lot to me.”

Antonio smiled, his arm having draped itself around the Italian still hugging his waist. “Of course, Alfred. What are friends for?”

That earned a few quiet chuckles, and when Alfred nodded, Antonio, Feliciano, and Lovino returned to the kitchen to finish cooking. Ludwig raised his bottle and, smiling, Alfred lifted his own to clink against the German’s. They drank at the same time, and Alfred began to think that, maybe, he would be all right.


	34. Chapter 34

This was humiliating. How could they do this to him? Treat him like an unruly child when he was perfectly capable of handling himself. Shameful.

“Arthur! Dinner’s ready!” a cheerful voice called from the floor below, and Arthur heaved a sigh.

Not for the first time, he let his gaze pass over the room. There wasn’t much for decoration. The walls and ceiling were white, the floor a light wood. Windows set into two of the four walls let him look outside and see other Angels going about their business or just relaxing. It was small and simple but cozy, he supposed. Pleasant enough, anyway, but not where he wanted to be. He wanted to be in his own house, with his own things. He wanted to sit in his garden and drink his tea without being bothered, wanted to endure his punishment in solitude. But, of course, that was impossible.

“Arthur?”

“I’m coming, Tino,” the green-eyed Angel responded, picking himself up off the bed that had been made with spare linens for him. His weight made the floor creak just slightly as he crossed the room and left it, entering a short hallway decorated with framed pictures. They were of Tino and Berwald and Peter—the young Angel was all but overjoyed to have Arthur around—and while they were all very happy images, it made Arthur sad to look at them. Tino and Berwald were lucky. They had met as Angels and so the love they had for each other was encouraged. Even Peter had become part of their family when they’d taken him in to live with them. The boy was practically their adopted son.

_And I can never have any of that with Alfred._

Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking things like that! He tried to redirect his thoughts or shut them out completely, but it was too late. His head was filled with blue eyes behind glasses, ash blond hair and that odd little cowlick, the smile that made him feel like the most important man in the universe. Amazing that he could still so easily picture his face even without having seen it for days. No, longer than that. How long had it been?

Nearly two weeks.

The realization had the green-eyed Angel slumping against the wall with a hand over his eyes. His shoulders quaked with the threat of oncoming sobs; his chest felt empty, void of the steady beat that had filled it for so many years. Two weeks. Had it really been that long? Felt longer, felt like months. But it had only been two weeks since his meeting with the High Council.

He’d gone to watch Alfred after that, once he’d calmed down enough to return. Romulus found him first, tried to console him when Arthur didn’t want to be consoled. He wanted to tell the High Council to piss off. But he couldn’t do that, so he’d ignored Romulus in order to focus on Alfred. The American had been at work, sitting at a little round table in a small, dimly lit room. His friends had been there, too, and while Arthur was glad to see they were doing well, he’d focused on his blond American.

Even as Romulus had tried to talk to him, as more Angels arrived and came to ask if something was wrong, he hadn’t reacted to anyone. Just watched, completely focused on how dull Alfred’s eyes looked, how he didn’t talk as much as Arthur thought he would. The bespectacled man looked tired and sad and it pulled at Arthur’s heart. Eventually, though, Romulus had succeeded in gaining the smaller Angel’s attention and Arthur, silent, had let his superiors lead him away. He hadn’t been allowed to go back since.

And now he was living in Tino and Berwald’s house because he needed to be supervised.

It was bloody stupid, all of it. He was over five hundred years old! He didn’t need to be babysat like an infant! This was humiliating and even though only the Council and the Angels assigned to watch him knew the full extent of what was going on, he hated that everyone who didn’t know cast him pitying glances, concerned and sympathetic. They probably thought he was still suffering from his stay on earth and needed looking after. Like a child.

_“For my own good.” Bullocks. They just don’t want me sneaking back to earth to see Alfred because I might decide to hang it all and sleep with him. They want me to live here under lock and key, have a Trace on me, and go on like normal? Idiots, all of them. I can’t work without taking someone else with me and that’s dangerous—two Angels in one place? We’d be spotted in an instant. Besides, they don’t want to risk me going to New York and making a side trip to Al’s apartment. I’m back in heaven and fully healed but I can’t work. I can’t even spend the time in my own home unless someone goes with me. How am I supposed to spend the next fifty or more earth years like this, just waiting for Alfred to die?_

Cruel, that’s what it was. Might as well tie him up and throw him in the cellar, keep him in the dark until the day Alfred passed away then shove him back into his role as a Guardian Angel and expect him to carry on like nothing was wrong. Angels might be too civilized and genteel to lock him up, but putting him under house arrest until further notice was almost as bad. It made it seem like he had no reason to be unhappy, like he should be grateful to Tino and Berwald for agreeing to take him. Meanwhile, his own house sat empty once more. He’d gotten to sleep there for barely a week.

“Arthur?” Tino was at the foot of the stairs now, looking up with concern on his soft-featured face.

_I’m not hungry. I don’t want to come down. Just let me be. Leave me alone._

The green-eyed Angel was tempted to return to the room he’d been given, but he knew it would hurt Tino’s feelings if he rejected the meal that had been prepared. Peter was probably already at the table, waiting, and there Arthur was standing in the upstairs hall as Tino watched him from below. Soft footsteps approached him but he didn’t look, didn’t move away as the other Angel drew nearer and reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

What kind of question was that? Of course he wasn’t all right. But Arthur dropped his hand and forced a small smile.

“Fine, Tino. Sorry. I was just lost in thought for a moment.”

There was worry in blue eyes that were too light to be Alfred’s, doubt in the way Tino’s mouth was set. He didn’t say anything though, didn’t demand that Arthur tell him the truth. Tino was too kind-hearted for that and Arthur knew it wasn’t mere coincidence that he’d been placed under the friendly Angel’s care. If anyone could keep an eye on him without seeming overbearing, it was Tino, and that extended to Berwald because the tall Angel didn’t speak much and kept to himself. While he couldn’t say the same for Peter, the boy didn’t know the full extent of what was going on, so he hadn’t made a pest of himself just yet.

“Come eat. Peter and Berwald are waiting.” It was a command and yet gentle, giving him the choice to refuse, if he wanted. He knew it would sadden Tino if he went back to his room, though, so Arthur nodded and followed him down the stairs to the kitchen, smiled apologetically at the two males already sitting at the table as he and Tino took their seats.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he murmured; Peter beamed.

“That’s okay, Arthur.” Really, the young Angel loved that Arthur had come to stay with them for a while even though he didn’t know why. As far as he knew, Arthur was merely lonely to be in his house by himself and so was visiting until he was comfortable again.

Arthur returned the younger Angel’s smile before focusing on the plate set out for him. They served themselves, Peter chattering absently between bites of food. Tino listened attentively and so did Berwald, though the rather intimidating Angel didn’t comment as often as Tino did. Arthur chose not to participate in the conversation. Rather, he stared at the food on his plate and tried to will himself to be hungry enough to eat it. He knew it was well made, knew Tino was a talented cook and that the food would be delicious. But he just wasn’t hungry.

Of course, his loss of appetite was entirely due to his malcontent with how things had played out with the High Council. It had nothing to do with Tino’s cooking or who he was with, where he was. How often had he visited anyway? He was perfectly comfortable in this house. Before, though, he’d willingly gone, had been invited. This time he had no choice in the matter and that made him resentful. An Angel under house arrest because he’d fallen in love with a human. It sounded ridiculous even in his head.

_I could sneak out…but they’d know because of the bloody Trace. I wouldn’t get out of heaven much less back to Alfred’s apartment. The Council would send someone after me and then I’d be under even tighter restrictions than I am now._

There was no point in getting himself in trouble, but that didn’t stop him from wishing he could go. Just for a little while. All he wanted was to see him, hear his voice. Say hello. Apologize.

“Tino.”

The conversation that had been taking place around him stopped and the other three Angels looked at him curiously—it was the first thing he’d said in over fifteen minutes.

“Yes?” Tino’s tone was polite and curious, masking his concern.

“I don’t want to be a bother, but if it’s not too much trouble, could we visit the pavilion after dinner? I would like to earthgaze.” He hoped that sounded casual enough. No need to be obvious about how badly he wanted to see Alfred’s face, see him smile and laugh.

The other Angel smiled and nodded. “It’s no trouble, Arthur. Of course we can go.”

“Thank you.”

With that settled, conversation resumed and Arthur managed to eat a little, his appetite coming to life now that he knew he was going to get to see the human he missed so much. The viewing windows wouldn’t give him quite what he wanted, but they were close enough and at this point he was willing to take what he could get.

Dinner seemed to move much faster once he had something to look forward to. In almost no time at all, the others were finished eating, and it was a simple matter of Tino’s wand that the dishes were clean and put away. 

“Shall we?” He was smiling, kind blue eyes on Arthur as the other Angel nodded and rose from his chair.

Together, they left the house and walked along in silence, occasionally passing other Angels and waving, calling out greetings to each other. It was beautiful out, as it always was in heaven, the sky iridescent and breathtaking overhead. When they reached the pavilion, the few other Angels already there earthgazing waved but otherwise paid them no mind, too intent on the humans they were watching. Arthur barely noticed them as he headed straight for a window that wasn’t being used, one that was away from the others so he could have some privacy.

“I’ll wait here,” Tino said softly, smiling, and Arthur nodded gratefully. It would be better to do this without someone peering over his shoulder.

Gaze locked on the window, he slowly sank to his knees and settled comfortably. At a mere thought, the soft glow coming from the glass-like material grew brighter then faded out to reveal Alfred in his apartment. It must have been early afternoon, because he was in his pajamas and his hair was extra messy the way it was when the American first woke up.

_Alfred…_

He wanted to hug him but settled for letting his fingertips rest against the window’s surface as he watched the bespectacled blond move around his kitchen. There were still shadows under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept well, and he shuffled his feet rather than walked with the confidence that Arthur was sure the man had been born with. Clearly, something was wrong with Alfred, and that worried him. Hadn’t he been sleeping? It couldn’t be that his nightmare had come back—the meadow Arthur had given him would never go away. Why did he look so…run down?

Green eyes now full of concern and his brow creased with worry, Arthur watched the American open a cupboard and reach inside for a plate, hesitate, then grab two and set them out on the table. Two cups. Silverware for both places. Someone must have been coming over to eat lunch with him, keep him company, maybe make sure he was all right. Arthur hoped so. He didn’t like seeing Alfred like this. It wasn’t right.

But the longer he watched, the more he realized that no one was coming. Alfred sat alone at the kitchen table, barely eating the pizza he’d made. The other place sat empty and unused.

_What are you doing, Alfred? Why set two places?_

It didn’t make any sense and Arthur leaned closer to the window as if that would help him understand. Damn but he wished he could feel the American’s emotions, wished he could reach out and touch his cheek and ask what was wrong.

On a whim, the image closed in on Alfred’s face and Arthur gasped, a hand covering his mouth. There were tears spilling down the bespectacled man’s face, dripping onto his shirt as he stared at the empty chair across from him. He didn’t make a sound, though now the Angel could see that Alfred’s breathing wasn’t quite even. How long had he been crying, and Arthur hadn’t even noticed? The sight made his heart hurt and he leaned forward, almost lying on the window in an attempt to be closer to the taller male.

“Alfred. Alfred, it’s okay. Please don’t cry,” the green-eyed Angel begged quietly, both hands flat against the window now. “Please, Alfred. I’m here. I love you. It’s okay.”

Saying it was useless, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. His Alfred was crying and he wasn’t there to make him feel better, couldn’t talk to him or touch him. Hell, if not for Tino standing nearby waiting for him, he would have left heaven then and there and gone to the American. Part of him was willing to risk it even if Tino alerted the Council and they came to stop him. If he was fast enough, he just might make it, maybe.

Arthur bit his lip and glanced over to where Tino still stood. No, he wouldn’t make it. He wouldn’t even get out of the pavilion before the Council knew he was running. They’d stop him before he got out of heaven. Still, as he turned back to the window and watched Alfred slowly wipe at his tears and clear his throat, he was tempted. So, so tempted. He could just imagine the way Alfred would smile to see him walk in that door, so bright and happy. He wanted to be wrapped in those arms and hugged, lifted off his feet because he knew Alfred could easily pick him up. Hell, he wanted that.

“Everything’s going to be all right, Alfie,” he whispered as the American finished drying his eyes and stood to clear the table. “I promise. No matter what, I’m going to make sure everything’s okay.” 

It didn’t matter that he didn’t know how he was going to do that, or that he didn’t know what was wrong with Alfred. All that mattered was that he wasn’t going to sit around Tino’s house for the next half century or so and let Alfred suffer alone. Now way in hell was that going to happen.

Determined now, he watched as the kitchen was cleaned, remembered helping with those chores so that they would have more time to relax. Such mundane tasks that Arthur had done in seconds with a flick of his wand for the last few centuries. And yet, he missed doing dishes by hand, sweeping the floor and learning to use the washing machine to keep his clothes clean. They were the sort of activities that kept his hands busy but let his mind wander—he missed that, missed the simplicity of a human lifestyle.

Once the chores were done, he expected the bespectacled human to watch TV or read or maybe take a nap because he looked so awfully tired. Instead, though, Alfred moved from the kitchen to the living room and stood there staring at the front door. His expression was hopeful yet worried, anxious, desperate almost, like he was willing it to open and Arthur felt a sinking sensation in his chest to think that he was the one Alfred was waiting for so…hopelessly. There was a sadness in those beautiful blue eyes that made him wonder if the human knew the Council had banned Arthur from visiting. Had he resigned himself to never seeing the Angel again?

Arthur didn’t want to think about that. He wanted Alfred to live optimistically, as if he might walk through that door at any moment and plop down on the couch to watch some action adventure about a super hero and cuddle and eat popcorn. But it didn’t look like Alfred was anywhere close to thinking that way. He barely seemed like the same man Arthur had known during his month on earth. His eyes didn’t shine. He didn’t smile. His shoulders sagged and even his cowlick seemed different, as if it was drooping slightly. Somehow, in only a few weeks, he’d lost that endless energy Arthur had almost been jealous of. And it was all his fault.

_I should have explained. I should have waited for him and said goodbye. We could have worked things out. Visitations on weekends or something, or maybe whenever I had an assignment in New York then I’d stop by. This is where weakness and cowardice get me. Under house arrest with Tino watching my every move, banned from visiting earth until further notice and only able to see Alfred through these blasted windows. I’m such a git._

How was he supposed to live like this?


	35. Chapter 35

Undoubtedly the worst Christmas of his entire life. It was Christmas Eve and what was he doing? Sitting alone in his apartment watching boring holiday programs on TV with a forgotten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and an almost empty beer in his hand, that’s what. His third beer of the night, actually. So he was bored out of his mind but still in a pretty good mood, thanks to the pre-tipsy buzz in the back of his brain.

Without really noticing, Alfred began humming along with the familiar tune playing in whatever movie was on. Judging by the puppet-style animation, it was the Rudolph movie from the early 60’s, the one where Rudolph goes to the Island of Misfit Toys and gets Santa to come take them to children who will love them.

“Wish Santa’d come get me…take me to somebody who loves me,” the blond mumbled, then let out a giggle that betrayed how much alcohol he’d had. Despite his size, Alfred was a bit of a lightweight simply because he didn’t drink that often. But tonight called for alcohol. How else was he supposed to enjoy a Christmas that he had to spend alone for the first time in years?

Halloween and Thanksgiving had passed unnoticed thanks to a certain Angel, but he couldn’t ignore Christmas. It was his favorite holiday, like it was for so many people. This year, though, he had no plans to celebrate, no parties to visit. That had always been Ivan’s job—Christmas was the one time of the year the Russian had been…loving. He’d been affectionate at times but there was something about this particular holiday that had been different.

Alfred remembered putting up a Christmas tree, Ivan producing wrapped gifts from seemingly nowhere. They were always expensive, fantastic gifts, accompanied by all the food and drink he could want. Ivan had spoiled him on Christmas. It had always stumped him to figure out how his lover afforded it all, until he found out about the drugs. Christmas was ruined after that discovery, but he’d tried. God, he’d tried. It just hadn’t been enough.

The weight of unpleasant memories began to press down on him and Alfred quickly finished his beer in order to fend them off. What sort of Christmas would it be if all he thought about was how much he missed Arthur or the memories of his relationship with Ivan going bad?

One shitty fucking Christmas.

Seriously, it was Christmas Eve. He should be having the time of his life. Instead, he wandered into the kitchen for a new beer and threw away the one he’d just finished. Just as he was opening the fridge, there was an unexpected knock on the door and Alfred frowned. He hadn’t invited anyone over, hadn’t made any plans. Who the hell was at his front door?

Grumbling to himself about carolers, the American chose a beer and opened it as he moved to peer through the window and see who it was. Four figures stood on the front step and he recognized them after only a moment. Confused now, he opened the door and stared at his surprise guests.

“Uh…hey?”

Smiling brightly, Antonio held up a present wrapped in colorful paper. “ _Feliz Navidad,_ Alfred.”

His brain still struggling to understand why Antonio was offering him a gift and why he was even there in the first place, Alfred silently stepped back to let the four of them in. Immediately, coats, hats, scarves and boots were abandoned, then the four of them split up. Antonio headed straight for the TV and fiddled with something. Cheerful holiday music began playing a moment later and the Spaniard grinned, dancing his way to where Lovino was loitering by the couch. He pulled the brunet into his dance, whispering something into his ear that put a determined look on Lovino’s face, and the Italian nodded.

Alfred was mildly surprised that he didn’t resist dancing or curse at Antonio, though he was distracted before he could take the time to figure out why that might be. The next thing to capture his somewhat hazy attention was Ludwig. The German had carried a box inside and was busy sorting through it. It took several moments for Alfred to recognize the items being removed as Christmas lights and little Santa figurines that Ludwig was quick to place about the room before he plugged in the lights and arranged the string around the TV and its systems. As soon as that was done he moved into the kitchen and joined Feliciano, who Alfred noticed for the first time had brought in his own box and was busy cooking. The little Italian happily hummed along to the music Antonio had started, and Alfred found himself standing in the middle of his living room with a beer in his hand, at a loss for what to do.

“Come on, Alfred! Dance! It’s Christmas!”

Before he had a chance to escape, the beer was taken from his hand and he was pulled into a dance by Antonio. He struggled to keep up, to move his feet as smoothly as the Spaniard did, and he knew he was failing at it but Antonio merely encouraged him. Within a few minutes he was light-headed and breathless, having consumed too much alcohol to move around so much.

“Tonio…I needa stop,” he managed, backing away from the brunet and retreating to the couch. Thankfully, Antonio didn’t argue and merely danced his way into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two glasses full of a thick, off-white liquid.

“Eggnog!” he practically sang, dropping onto the couch next to Alfred and putting one of the cups into the American’s hand. Alfred stared at it, the smell quickly reaching his nose and blocking out everything else. Eggnog? He hadn’t bought any eggnog this year…they must have brought it with them.

“Tonio,” he began, catching the attention of the green-eyed Spaniard as Antonio sipped at his own cup of eggnog.

“ _Si, mi amigo?_ ”

“What’re you doing here?” It was a blunt question that put a puzzled look on Antonio’s face.

“What do you mean? It’s Christmas. We’re meant to celebrate with our loved ones, no?”

Alfred hesitated to respond to that. “Yeah, but…” Letting that trail off, his gaze moved to where he could see Ludwig helping Feliciano cook, then to Lovino coming out of the bathroom and then back to Antonio sitting beside him. It seemed odd to him that they’d shown up. Shouldn’t they be celebrating Christmas with each other? Antonio and Lovino were engaged so this Christmas was special. It was their last holiday as an unmarried couple, and next year would be even more important for them. Ludwig didn’t like parties very much so Christmas was usually a quiet affair for him and Feliciano, though the five of them had celebrated together before. Still, he thought they would be better off having their own celebrations rather than throwing a party in his apartment.

A kind smile appeared on Antonio’s face. “But what? Come now, Alfred. You know we wouldn’t let you be alone for Christmas Eve. What kind of friends would we be?”

Okay, he had to admit the Spaniard had a point, but still. It kind of made him feel like a burden to think they might have had their own plans and cancelled simply to keep him company. He hadn’t done anything to deserve that, especially considering all the moping he’d done during the few weeks since Arthur left. They should have grown tired of him by now, yet they continued to offer support and sympathy.

 _I don’t deserve this,_ he thought, turning his attention to the drink in his hand and sipping at it. The familiar, strong flavor replaced that of beer and helped clear his head just a little. _Arthur left me. It’s only a matter of time before they do, too._

A depressing idea but one that he honestly felt was true. The longer he thought about it the more convinced he became that he wasn’t good enough for Arthur—who could be good enough for an Angel, anyway?—and that he wasn’t good enough for his friends. They were being so great to him and he couldn’t even be as grateful as they deserved. All their efforts and he was still just as miserable as the day he discovered Arthur was gone.

Someone knocked at the door but Alfred didn’t even react, merely took another drink of his eggnog and wondered absently who the hell that could be because his friends were already there. When Antonio realized the American wasn’t going to answer the door, he got up and did it himself, grinning and stepping aside to allow two more people into the apartment.

“ _Hola!_ I’m glad you could make it on such short notice!” The amount of happiness in his tone was enough to capture Alfred’s attention and the bespectacled blond looked up, brow creasing in confusion.

“Ivan?” How had he known to come?

The Russian grinned, seeming a little embarrassed. “ _Привет,_ Alfred.” He shyly moved farther into the apartment as he tugged off his gloves and put them in his coat pockets. “You remember Toris, _да?_ ” The mentioned brunet stepped forward as Alfred nodded, smiling nervously and waving a little.

“It’s nice to see you again, Alfred,” he greeted, his accent soft. He stood close to Ivan and glanced around the apartment curiously.

“Same,” the American eventually offered, forcing a smile for the sake of manners. He’d honestly forgotten about Ivan meeting Toris, but he was still glad the man was turning his life around. It looked like the two of them were working out just fine.

_Couldn’t do that, either. Can’t be happy for my friends now. Wasn’t enough for Ivan to be happy before, wasn’t enough for Arthur to stick around or at least say goodbye. I’m not enough for anyone._

Thinking it made his heart hurt but he couldn’t help it, especially now that Ivan was taking Toris’ coat and hanging it up for him, kissed the brunet’s cheek and offered to get him a glass of eggnog. The Russian was being so…perfect. Alfred found himself wishing he’d been that way before. They never would have broken up, he wouldn’t have found Arthur. He wouldn’t be heartbroken and useless now. He’d be with Ivan and he’d be as happy as he’d tried to be back then. But Toris got the Ivan Alfred had always wanted, and he was stuck with his useless self.

No, he shouldn’t think of it that way. He was glad he’d found Arthur. The Angel would have been in serious trouble if Alfred hadn’t come along and noticed him in that alley. He’d saved the man’s life. That was a good thing.

_Shouldn’t’ve fallen in love with him. Heal him and get him home, that’s it. Would’ve been better for everyone that way. But I had to be an idiot and go and fall for his stupid green eyes and his stupid smile and his goddamn laugh and his fucking sexy body and who the hell has the right to be that perfect? It isn’t fucking fair._

Anger began mixing in with the depression he’d already been feeling until he was gripping his eggnog unnecessarily tight. He couldn’t even drink the stuff, he was upsetting himself so much. What was wrong with him, huh? Why did he have to be the one to get involved with Ivan just in time for the Russian to go off the deep end? He’d never done anything to deserve the shit he’d gone through for the sake of that relationship. And then finding Arthur? Why him? Why not someone with enough money to properly care for him, someone who would have healed him in a few days and sent him back to heaven? If it had been anyone but Alfred, the Angel never would have suffered a broken wing. That was all Al’s fault because he was the one Ivan had been after and then Arthur got in the way. He was to blame for the Angel’s injury.

“Drink up, Alfred.”

The sound of his name was barely enough to capture his attention and he glanced over to find Antonio watching him with concern. Another forced smile appeared on his face and he quickly gulped down the rest of his eggnog, desperate for something to do other than think about his situation. When the eggnog was gone he reached for his beer, noticing for the first time that it had been placed on the coffee table in order for Antonio to get him to dance. If he couldn’t be happy then he might as well get drunk.

A hand gently gripped his just before he could grab the drink and he looked up to find violet eyes looking at him in concern. “How much have you had, Al?”

Frowning slightly, he pulled free of the larger male’s grip and picked up the can. “Four.” And he took a long drink, his expression daring either Ivan or Antonio to try to stop him.

X

Gentle fingers brushed his bangs away from his forehead and Alfred shifted, frowning against the pain that quickly took root at his temple and spread through the rest of his brain. It was followed by a bitter taste that he noticed in the back of his throat, and he felt gross, like he hadn’t showered recently enough. Still, that touch was soothing and he let out a sigh, slowly letting his eyes crack open.

“Artie…?” The name croaked out of him, his tongue thick and heavy, incapable of producing regular speech.

But the face that slowly came into focus as his vision cleared wasn’t the blond he so desperately wanted to see, didn’t have green eyes. Its features were broader and stronger, familiar, and a slight smile appeared.

“ _Нет,_ I am afraid not. How is your head?”

With a groan, Alfred shoved his face into his pillow and turned his back on the Russian, a quiet chuckle sounding as he did so. The same hand that had moved his hair started rubbing his back, warm and comforting against the hangover that was quickly making the blond feel completely miserable.

“You had too much to drink.”

His only response was to groan again and yank the blankets up over his head. Of _course_ he’d had too much to drink. Alfred never had more than a couple beers at a time. Last night he’d had…how many? Ugh, he couldn’t remember. But judging by the pain splitting his skull open, quite a few.

It was quiet for a while, Ivan patiently rubbing between Alfred’s shoulder blades while the American tried to get a handle on his hangover.

_Shit…I thought Ivan was Arthur…_

Talk about his love life turning into a complete train wreck. Oh, but he didn’t have a love life. That’s why he’d had so much to drink last night. Because the Angel he loved had left him and the man he’d loved before was with someone else now. What little of his love life remained in the rubble was pathetic.

_I’m pathetic._

“We have breakfast, and coffee. Your friends made it.”

He didn’t respond even though he knew Ivan was looking for a sign that he was going to be ready to get up soon. He didn’t want to get up. All he wanted was to stay in bed all day, sleep until the headache went away. Maybe he would never get up. Bed was warm, bed was comfortable. Lonely, sure, but at least in bed he could curl up, wrap himself in blankets and sleep. He could forget about being alone in his apartment for the last month.

“Alfred, _please,_ do not do this. It is not healthy.”

Even though it was meant to be helpful, Ivan’s words merely sparked up the anger that had been starting to lurk under the pain.

“Fuck off, Ivan,” he growled, and the hand on his back stilled. “I don’t need relationship advice from you.”

Slowly, the hand was pulled away and he felt a small pang of guilt for having hurt the man who was trying to help him. But he couldn’t help snapping. In what world was Ivan the one who didn’t drink too much, who was in a happy, healthy relationship and taking care of himself while Alfred let his life go to hell?

“I am sorry, you know.” The larger male’s tone was defeated and Alfred chose to remain silent rather than respond. “For everything. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Alfred didn’t want to hear it. If the Russian hadn’t wanted to hurt him then he wouldn’t have, but he did, and that was that. To his surprise, the hand returned and this time rubbed up and down his spine, just like he’d used to do when Al didn’t feel like getting up. The feeling was both comforting and disconcerting because while he’d always enjoyed having his back rubbed, the last time Ivan had done this for him was just before the fight that had convinced Alfred to leave him.

Eventually, he let his anger fade and sighed, turning onto his back to look up at the man. Ivan smiled at him, a little guilty and very apologetic. He offered a glass of water, which Alfred considered before sitting up—slowly—and leaning against the wall. With help, he managed to find and put on his glasses and settle comfortably before the water was given to him.

“Thanks.” A few sips helped ease the taste in his mouth and the ache in his head, though the first swallow was difficult to accomplish. Once he got past that, he finished the water a moment later and set the empty glass on the nightstand.

“Feeling better?”

He nodded then grimaced, the motion still a little too much for him, then turned at the sound of the door opening. Antonio stood there, Ludwig, Feliciano and Lovino just behind him as the four of them peered into the darkened bedroom.

“I hope you’re hungry, _amigo._ ” The Spaniard grinned. “Lovino’s made us a feast.”

Rolling his eyes, the mentioned Italian backed up and vanished from view.

“Get that bastard up! He reeks and I didn’t cook for him not to eat it!”

They all laughed at that, even Alfred managing a chuckle as Toris slipped between his friends and joined Ivan where the large man sat on the edge of the bed.

“I found some painkillers above the fridge.” He held them out before noticing that the glass was empty, then proceeded to set the pills down and take the cup. “I’ll get you some more water.” And then he was gone again, his footsteps soft.

“He seems great,” Alfred admitted, his tone almost grudging, and Ivan smiled.

“He is.” Then the Russian stood, the mattress shifting when his weight disappeared, and headed for the door. “Come eat whenever you are ready.” The five of them moved out of the way as Toris arrived with more water, which Alfred accepted gratefully, before the door was closed to give him privacy while he worked to get himself out of bed.

Sighing, the bespectacled blond swallowed the pills and quickly emptied the second glass of water before leaning his head back against the wall and letting his eyes fall closed. The idea of going through another day was daunting, and he didn’t even want to think about having to go to work that night, but it was Christmas and his friends were here. He would do his best to be happy, even if it was only on the outside.


	36. Chapter 36

The moment they reached the pavilion, Arthur abandoned his companion and headed straight for the window he usually chose to watch Alfred through. Berwald was with him today, standing nearby to wait and make sure Arthur didn’t try to do anything stupid. It was still fairly early, so they hadn’t encountered many Angels on their way from Tino’s house, but the green-eyed Angel didn’t care. He just wanted to be at the window in time to see Alfred wake up. Had his supervisors allowed it, he would have slept by that window so he would never have to miss a moment, but so far they’d carried him back to the house once he’d fallen asleep.

But it was a new day and he was going to watch Alfred uninterrupted for hours. Tino had ventured to call his behaviors obsessive before Berwald and Arthur left that morning. Arthur hadn’t responded to that. Of course he knew he was being obsessive by acting this way, but what could they expect? He was in love with the man and wasn’t allowed to see him! He was going to take whatever he could get, even if that was just settling down by this window every morning and bringing up an image of his American wherever he was and whatever he was doing.

Unsurprisingly, the bedroom was dim even during the afternoon, but Alfred wasn’t in bed like normal. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, dressed in sweatpants and an old-looking shirt. Had he woken up early? No, the bags under his eyes were too dark for that.

Peering at the image, Arthur shifted his weight and tried to see his human a little more clearly. Why were the lights off if Alfred was awake? Why hadn’t he gone to sleep? This wasn’t right. It wasn’t like Alfred and it worried him. The man had been so responsible about getting enough rest while Arthur was staying with him. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed the past few days and the Angel had wondered if the American was ill. But Alfred just lay in bed all day, slept on and off but never looked rested, always looked completely exhausted.

_What’s wrong, Alfie? Are you sick? Are you hurt? Did something happen when I wasn’t looking?_

Unlikely. There wasn’t a moment he was awake that Arthur wasn’t watching the blue-eyed blond. He woke up, dressed, and came to the pavilion with either Tino or Berwald. Then he refused to leave even to eat, so Matthew and Gilbert had been enlisted to take a shift of watching him and bringing him food. It would have been easier for them to just let him go on his own, but the High Council was determined to keep him under supervision.

Arthur thought it was all rather pointless. He couldn’t leave heaven without the Trace alerting his superiors. He couldn’t go anywhere without them knowing about it.

_Ugh, stop rehashing it, Arthur. Focus. Figure out what’s wrong with Alfred. You promised him everything would be okay. How are you going to do that if you don’t even know what’s bothering him?_

To do that, though, to figure out what was wrong and then do anything and everything he could to fix it, he need Alfred to give him a hint. The human was motionless, though, his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees and hands hanging limp. Seeing him like that was upsetting.

Sighing, the green-eyed Angel lay on his side and curled his body around the mirror, his head pillowed on his arm. His free hand rested on the surface of the window as if he could reach right through it and stroke Alfred’s cheek, lift his chin so he could look into those blue eyes and tell him everything was going to be okay. Everything had to be okay. If it wasn’t…he didn’t know what he’d do.

X

Fuck, he hadn’t slept a wink. Maybe it was because he’d hardly spent any time out of bed the last…four days? Five? They’d sort of run together in the darkness of the bedroom. Last night he’d tossed and turned for hours, only managing to drift in and out of an uneasy sleep plagued by nightmares. He hadn’t even managed to sleep long enough to get to the meadow Artie had given him, which was where he spent most of his sleeping hours. It was peaceful there, and he liked to sit under the tree.

But he hadn’t managed it last night, and now he felt like complete shit.

_As if you haven’t felt like shit for weeks. You’ve felt like the shit stuck to the hobo’s shoe since you found out he was gone._

And the feeling intensified as his thoughts found their way to him. Yeah, he couldn’t even bring himself to think the name. Not since he’d made the mistake of confusing him with Ivan on Christmas morning.

God, he couldn’t do this. A hand went over his eyes and rubbed, trying to make the world come into focus like it hadn’t been for he didn’t know how long. His whole body felt gross because he hadn’t been bothering to shower and there was blond stubble on his chin that he normally would have taken care of the moment he noticed it. It was just lucky he’d never grown much facial hair or the stubble would have been more along the lines of a scraggly beard and Alfred hated the way he looked with facial hair.

The sound of his phone ringing broke the silence but the blond made no move to go and get it. He’d left it on the coffee table Christmas day and had barely touched it since. Besides, it was probably just Antonio calling to see if he would be at work that night. Alfred had no intentions of going. He hadn’t gone back to work after the night off they were given for Christmas and if he kept feeling as worthless as he did then he wouldn’t go back.

_Stop calling, Tonio. I’m not coming. Just let me be miserable by myself._

It was pathetic, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. What more could he do? The apartment was silent again and it wasn’t peaceful like Alfred wished it was. Instead, the silence pressed in on him, tangible and suffocating. Had it always been this lonely? Probably. He just hadn’t noticed because at first having a place to himself was all he’d wanted, then he’d had Arthur for company…now he was alone. There was nothing worse than the kind of loneliness that felt like abandonment, as if the one thing that really mattered had vanished like it never existed, and that hurt more than Alfred could ever say.

He definitely couldn’t do this. Not for the rest of his life, not even for another day.

_Even if I don’t get to heaven, maybe they’ll let Arthur be the one. I’ll get to see him._

It was all the motivation he needed to make up his mind.

Standing, he stretched until the majority of his joints had popped, rolling his neck. Every muscle was stiff and slow to respond, but he had plans to change that, and left the bedroom with a more purposeful stride than he’d had in days. The apartment was dark, stale—the blond threw open the curtains to find that afternoon had passed into evening, so he turned on every light he could find. It hurt his eyes for a moment but his pupil’s soon adjusted, and then he realized what a mess his apartment had become during his pseudo-hibernation.

“I can’t leave it like this,” he muttered to himself, starting to pick up the few dishes left out from lonely meals, the empty pop cans and wrappers. The kitchen was going to need a complete cleaning since he’d cooked but hadn’t bothered to wash dishes, it needed to be swept and everything else needed to be vacuumed. He didn’t even want to think about how much attention the bathroom was going to need.

That was all right, though. He would clean everything first so that no one else would have to.

_I’ll make as little mess as possible._

It would only be right. Leaving a mess for his friends to deal with would be cruel, especially after the trouble he’d already caused them. They’d been so good to him but it just…wasn’t enough. There was nothing else for it. He would fix things in his own way. So he picked up the living room, washed every dirty dish he could find and wiped down all the counters, swept the floor and took out the trash. He even found a candle to light so that it would smell nice and left it burning to go vacuum the rest of the apartment. The bed was made, the laundry started and the bathroom scrubbed until it was the cleanest it had ever been during his time there.

Oddly, getting everything as clean as possible reminded him that he hadn’t been living there that long. Less than a year. Barely over six months. He hadn’t expected to leave it so soon, but his mind was made up and there was no changing it.

By the time he finished cleaning, the sun had long set and the streetlights had come on. Just as he was moving from the bedroom to the bathroom to shower, a muted boom sounded and the American ducked a little, thinking for one irrational moment that a bomb had gone off. But there was no following destruction, just more booms and pops. Fireworks. It was New Year’s Eve.

_Perfect. No one will notice._

X

Arthur was still trying to figure out what was going through Alfred’s head. The man hadn’t gotten out of bed for days and now he’d spent the last few hours cleaning his apartment so thoroughly even the green-eyed Angel would have a hard time finding something out of place or dirty. It didn’t make sense. The Alfred he knew would never have let his apartment get so dirty in the first place, but going on such a cleaning splurge was unusual, too.

_Maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought…he could do this every few months…just take a week off and sleep as much as he can then suddenly get up and go back to his life…_

Possible but he knew it was unlikely. So unlikely that he dismissed the thought mere moments after he’d had it and refocused on the image in the window. Alfred had gone into the bathroom and turned on the shower, was stripping down as the water heated up and Arthur couldn’t help but start to feel a little warm. Even though he hadn’t been taking care of himself, the American was impressive. It made Arthur wish he was there even more and brought up the memories of their few days together as lovers. They were bittersweet images and feelings but he treasured them all the same.

“What are you doing, Alfred?” he asked softly, watching as the human stepped into the shower and scrubbed himself down as carefully as he’d cleaned a few minutes ago, shampooed his hair and even made sure there was nothing stuck under his nails.

It was almost meticulous, and when he was finished he stepped out, dried off and went to the sink, the towel around his waist as he shaved. Arthur had never seen the blue-eyed blond shave before, but that wasn’t at all surprising. What was surprising was that the American stood motionless for a few minutes after he’d finished and cleaned up after himself, just stood there, staring at his reflection. He appeared to be deep in thought and Arthur wished desperately that he could delve into the man’s mind. But he had to watch in confusion and curiosity as Alfred left the bathroom and dressed, then added the clothes he’d been wearing before and his towel to the laundry. There wouldn’t be any dirty clothes left in the apartment once it was finished.

_He’s getting ready for something. All this cleaning and shaving…he has to be preparing, but for what? He hasn’t spoken to anyone in days. Why is he so worried about the mess?_

His knees were starting to hurt from kneeling on the marble floor of the pavilion but Arthur paid it no mind. He was much too focused on Alfred, on the way the American was wandering his apartment as if looking for something more to do, like he was putting something off. There was nothing, though—the apartment was pristine and he eventually made his way to the front closet.

Eyes narrowing, Arthur watched as Alfred took his work belt off the high shelf, the one that had his gun and handcuffs and flashlight on it. What was he doing? He only ever took the belt out when he was going to work, but he hadn’t put on his uniform so that couldn’t be it. Arthur had only ever seen him take the gun out once, on the night Ivan broke his wing, and the memory of that was fuzzy at best. Seeing him take the gun from the holster then put the belt back into the closet had him leaning as close to the window as he could.

Alfred had his gun. Why did Alfred have his gun. This was not good. No way was this good. He’d been depressed for days and now he had his gun—

“Alfred!” Several pairs of eyes turned to stare at him for shouting but Arthur didn’t notice. Fear was prominent in his voice and he couldn’t help but slam his palm against the window as if it would somehow gain the American’s attention as the bespectacled blond went into the bathroom and locked the door. “Alfred, don’t!”

No no no no this couldn’t happen! He wouldn’t! He was too strong for this he had too much to live for!

“Arthur,” a quiet voice sounded behind him and he felt a hand on his shoulder, “are you all right?”

Ignoring the interruption, Arthur pounded against the window a few more times. “You bastard! Alfred, I’ll never forgive you! I swear on my life, you blue-eyed git! Put the gun away this instant!”

Other Angels were starting to come over to see what Arthur was so upset about, muttering and saying that someone should fetch Romulus, asking Matthew what was wrong.

“Arthur, please calm down,” the quiet Angel pleaded, trying to get his charge to stop hitting the window but not managing to do so. “You’re scaring everyone.”

“I don’t bloody care, Matthew! Do you see what he’s doing!?” Arthur demanded, pointing at the image of Alfred stepping into the shower and closing the curtain, still fully dressed and with the gun in hand. “The idiot’s going to—!” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word, but his panic was starting to get the better of him, flooding his veins with adrenaline the way it had the night Ivan followed Alfred home and had tried to hurt him. That was why he’d shoved Alfred out of the way. And now the idiot had gotten an idea like _this_ into his head!

His hands clenching into fists as he watched, Arthur felt himself starting to tremble, felt every muscle in his body tense. No. He wasn’t letting this happen. He hadn’t given Alfred that meadow and stopped Ivan from hurting him just for the American to do something so stupid!

Before anyone could stop him, he burst from the small crowd that had gathered and flew as fast as his wings could carry him, ignoring the shouts that followed. The Trace and the High Council be damned—Alfred wasn’t getting away with this!

X

_Deep breaths._

Everything was taken care of. The apartment was spotless. All his clothes were clean and in the dryer—there would be only one mess to take care of once he was found. He didn’t want to cause trouble for anyone.

This was the best way to do it. The fireworks would cover up the noise, no one would notice. They wouldn’t find him right away, probably not until Antonio came looking for him for not answering his phone. He didn’t want Antonio to be the one to find him, but then, he wasn’t sure who he’d want that person to be. Not Feliciano—the Italian wouldn’t be able to handle it. Maybe Ludwig. Or his landlord. His landlord would probably be best. He’d be the most professional about handling things from there, but Antonio or Ludwig would probably be all right. Just not Feliciano. He didn’t want the little brunet to have to deal with such a gruesome memory.

Should have bought pills. There wouldn’t be any mess that way.

But he didn’t want to take the time to go buy enough. He already had a gun and bullets—this would be quick and easy. And he was doing it in the shower, so they could just rinse it out and bleach it. Simple to clean up. A closed-casket funeral for his few friends. They could separate out his belongings however they wanted. Most of it would probably go to Ivan, but that was fine. The Russian had bought him a lot of the things he owned, anyway. They’d been gifts, apologies.

Alfred didn’t want to live in a world of apologies and loneliness anymore.

“I’m gonna come see you, Arthur. Even if it’s just for a little while. I know this won’t get me into heaven, I know I won’t be an Angel for doing this, but if you’re listening, I want you to know that I love you. Whatever happens after this, wherever my soul ends up, I love you. I don’t want to live without you and I hope they let you be the one to take me to wherever I go from here.”

The thought made him smile and he took a moment to imagine that, imagined getting to see the green-eyed Angel again, hold his hand, talk to him. It wouldn’t last long, but that was all right. One last smile was all he wanted.

“See you in a few, Artie,” he whispered, then cocked the gun and slid the barrel into his mouth. The metallic taste coated his tongue and he felt the urge to swallow to get rid of it; a shiver of fear ran down his spine but thinking about Arthur quickly calmed him. Still, he felt his heart beating faster, knew his body was preparing itself to escape from danger.

 _I should have lain down,_ was the last thought to cross his mind before he closed his eyes and squeezed his finger on the trigger.


	37. Chapter 37

There was a bang, so loud that it hurt Alfred’s ears, and then his hand was empty. Silence surrounded him. Was that it? Was he dead? He’d expected to feel it, the recoil of the shot against his hand and jaw, thought maybe he’d experience some pain before everything went dark. But the blackness he was looking at now was just the insides of his eyelids, no different than it had been before he pulled the trigger.

Did it…work? Had the gun misfired? Jammed? Maybe…but he hadn’t dropped it, so how had it so suddenly disappeared as if he’d never held it in the first place?

“Alfred.”

That voice. He recognized that voice—joy surged up in him and his eyes snapped open. He had to be dead. It was the only explanation for that voice to have said his name. Except he was still standing in the shower, the curtain still closed. Confusion clouded his blue eyes and he looked around, touched his face and body. He felt solid, not ghost-like at all, but then, maybe he would still feel solid to himself. Except he wasn’t floating, wasn’t standing over his own dead body. There wasn’t a drop of blood to be seen. Shouldn’t he be able to see himself if he was dead?

“Alfred.” That voice again, but angrier this time, and suddenly the curtain was ripped open, hands grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shook him. Alfred didn’t resist, was too stunned by the sight before him. Arthur. Arthur with tears in his green eyes, hair windswept, wings spread wide and his toga rumpled.

“Ar—”

“You bastard!” the Angel shouted, cutting him off, still shaking him. His tears had run over, were dripping down his cheeks onto the fabric of his toga. “How dare you! How _dare_ you?! Don’t you ever, _ever_ try to do something so completely bloody stupid again! You idiot! You wanker! I hate you, you git! Arse!”

The insults barely registered in Al’s mind as he stared at the Angel. This was real. He wasn’t imagining it. Arthur was there, was yelling at him, was crying. Lunging, he grabbed the smaller male and yanked him forward, held the Angel against his chest and buried his face in those golden locks, breathed in deep through his nose to take in the scent of him. God, he’d missed that smell, missed the way Arthur’s body felt pressed against his own, his voice and eyes and smile, everything, and now the Angel was with him again.

“Arthur.” The name left him in a broken whisper; he felt his own tears starting to form and drip into the Angel’s hair.

Silence filled the bathroom as the two held onto each other, Arthur clinging as he cried into the larger man’s shirt. He’d been so afraid, terrified that he wouldn’t make it in time, that he’d reach the apartment and find Alfred already dead. It had spurred him to fly faster than he’d ever flown, and he’d still only barely managed to get there in time, had used magic to burst the locks on the doors and get rid of that damned gun just before it could go off. And now relief was making his knees feel weak; he would have collapsed had Alfred not been holding him so tightly.

“You git,” he whimpered, managing to lift his head and meet Alfred’s gaze. “What the hell were you thinking?”

The smallest of smiles made its way onto Al’s face and he touched the Angel’s cheek, stroked the tear-stained skin with his thumb before placing a kiss on his forehead. “I was thinking I didn’t want to live another day without you.”

“So you decided to kill yourself? That wouldn’t change anything, idiot!” Arthur was glaring again, anger replacing his relief. Now that he knew Alfred was all right, he could be properly upset about what had almost happened. “You’d have moved on! I never would have seen you again!”

“Well, I was hoping they’d let you be the one to come get my soul or whatever.”

Disbelief. Was he serious? He’d almost _killed himself_ on the off-chance that _maybe_ Arthur would be the Angel sent to guide him to the afterlife?

“I can’t _believe_ you!” the Angel shouted, shoving against Alfred’s chest to put a bit of distance between them. “I didn’t give you that meadow in your dreams and stop Ivan from kidnapping you just so you could give up! You have a whole life to live! You’re young and strong and smart—do you have any idea how many things you could accomplish?! Why would you ever throw it all away for a few moments with me?”

Alfred’s expression hardened and he pulled Arthur close again. “Because I love you.” And he kissed him, kissed him desperately with one hand on the back of the Angel’s head so he couldn’t pull away, his free arm around the smaller male’s waist. It was only for a moment and then Arthur shoved him again, put nearly six inches of space between their chests before drawing a hand back and slapping Alfred so hard his head snapped to the side. The attack shocked him, but he didn’t fight back or argue—he probably deserved it on some level.

“You complete and utter _arse,_ Alfred Jones,” Arthur hissed, fury sparking in his green eyes before he tangled both hands in the American’s hair and yanked his head down to kiss him even more roughly than Alfred had done a moment ago. Breaths mixed as he caught the taller man’s lower lip between his teeth and tugged on it before slipping his tongue past lips and teeth, found Alfred’s tongue waiting in the wet warmth he’d missed so much.

“ _Arthur._ ”

The sound of his name had him lifting himself, wrapping his legs around Alfred’s waist as he continued to kiss him, re-explored that mouth, moaned when the other man’s tongue did the same to him. His hands ran through ash blond hair, gently tugged on the strands and rubbed against the scalp, leaving Alfred’s hair a complete mess but urging him to kiss rougher, to claim Arthur’s mouth as his own, and he did so without hesitation.

Somehow, Alfred managed to step out of the shower without tripping or breaking the kiss, made his way from the bathroom to the bedroom and fell onto the bed with Arthur pinned beneath him. Only then did they separate, gasping for air, and Al took the opportunity to shift back so he could bite the Angel’s throat. A gasp escaped Arthur at the feel of teeth scraping against his skin, digging in just slightly, catching the flesh and tugging on it before Alfred began to suck, tongue laving the quickly-reddening spot to ease any discomfort. He squirmed, face flushed as his body heated and tingled with small sparks of pleasure, fingers still tangled in Alfred’s hair.

“Artie,” the taller blond murmured, then kissed the mark he’d made before moving up to look into green eyes once more, “we still can’t make love, can we.”

Oh, shit.

It was quiet as Arthur chewed his lip, looked up at the man he loved and wondered how much longer it would be before someone showed up to drag him back to heaven. The Trace was still on him, after all, so they knew he’d gone to Alfred’s apartment. They probably didn’t have very long.

_Hang it all._

The Angel smiled as he pulled his companion down for a soft, sweet kiss, his arms wrapping around Alfred’s neck. “I’ve decided I don’t care about the rules, Alfred,” he whispered, and watched blue eyes widen in surprise. “The only thing I want right now is to be with you, and if I don’t then I’ll regret it for the rest of my existence. Whether I lose my wings or not, I want you to live a full life. If I do, then I’ll be waiting for you in the afterlife, but you can’t give up, Alfred. You have too much to offer this world. Promise me.”

Nodding, the blue-eyed blond pressed his forehead to the other’s, looking straight into Arthur’s eyes. “I promise.”

“Good.”

Another kiss, this one soft, patient as hands began to wander over bodies, tugged at clothes. Alfred sat up on his knees and pulled his shirt off over his head, smiled when Arthur began tracing the curves and lines of his torso. His hands were so soft they sent goosebumps over the American’s skin.

“Arthur…” He sighed when lips brushed against his collarbone, a tongue slipping out to trace the shape. Those soft hands set to work on his belt, opening the buckle and then the button beyond that with little trouble, until Alfred’s jeans fell loose around his legs; he kicked them off so he was left in only his boxers. Arthur still wore his toga.

Smiling, the Angel mimicked Alfred’s pose and rose to his knees, mouth soon busy with leaving a mark at the center of the taller man’s collarbone. Strong hands on his hips drew him closer, quiet sounds escaping parted lips urged him on. How many times had he imagined doing just this, imagined claiming this human as his own and selfishly keeping him forever?

Once the mark was made he kissed it, let his hands run down that muscular chest and stomach until they found the waistband of boxers that really didn’t need to be there anymore, and he slipped his fingers past the elastic, felt Alfred’s ribs expand with a gasp as the Angel’s hand found its target. A moan sounded in the American’s throat and he shifted as Arthur began to rub the mass, wrapped his fingers around it and stroked gently.

“Nng…A-Artie…”

It was a whine that put a smile on the Angel’s lips, had him squeezing a little just to make Alfred tremble as the larger male rested his forehead on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Come on, love,” he whispered, stroking Alfred’s hair as he continued to rub and palm the quickly-hardening length in his hand, “I’ve missed you so much…” Pulling his hand away, the Angel lay back on the bed and smiled invitingly as blue eyes looked down at him. As he’d known he would, Alfred immediately began to remove the toga, calloused hands gentle as they took the sash from his waist, slipped the straps off his shoulders and pulled the cloth away from his body completely. It was then that the American paused, a small, confused smile appearing on his face.

“Yes?” Arthur was innocent, smiling as Alfred touched the fabric of the boxers. He’d taken to wearing them under his toga—they made him feel like he was closer to Alfred, were comforting during his time away from the American.

“I didn’t even realize I was missing a pair.”

“These are ones I borrowed most often while I was staying here. I…” now he looked away, his voice growing soft, “I meant to bring them back to you, but…”

Alfred moved closer to the Angel, resting against him but supporting his own weight so they were sharing body heat. “But?” His breath tickled the smaller male’s ear as he nuzzled Arthur’s cheek, relishing even that innocent touch.

“I couldn’t…let’s not talk about this now. I’ll tell you after,” Arthur promised, smiling to feel a kiss to his cheek. He didn’t want to take the time to explain about the High Council and how he’d been watching Alfred through that window for the past weeks. That could come later. Right now, he was ready to continue with the task at hand.

“All right. After.” Sitting up again, Alfred looked down at the golden blond and lightly gripped the boxers, removing them with a few tugs. He couldn’t help but watch the dark fabric slide over pale skin, felt his jaw ache with the desire to kiss every bit of Arthur that he could reach. The Angel looked like porcelain, flawless and cold, but he knew how warm that skin was to the touch, and once he had the boxers off he let his palms and fingertips slide over it, ran his hands all the way up from delicate ankles to soft, tender thighs that shivered under his touch. On a whim, he leaned down and kissed the sensitive flesh of Arthur’s inner thigh, remembered his fantasy of covering this area with little red marks to claim him. It would be easy to do, but it was also something to do later. Right now, he didn’t want anything to mar that creamy skin, not even his own marks.

“Alfred…”

The soft call drew his attention upwards, though he took his time trailing kisses up over a hip bone and flat stomach, narrow chest that rose and fell as the smaller male breathed. And then that neck that begged to be kissed and tasted before finally the mouth that moved to capture his own as hands stroked down his sides, caught the waistband of his boxers under thumbs and tugged them down until he could wiggle out of them. _Finally,_ it was just him and Arthur, and he pressed against the Angel just to feel that skin against his, to share warmth and touches as they kissed in the darkness.

“I forgot how soft you are,” he admitted, his hand resting on Arthur’s hip as they took a moment to breathe, legs now entangled.

A smile graced his lips, the most beautiful smile Alfred had ever seen, accompanied by a tinge of pink that made the Angel’s eyes seem even greener than normal. “You’re a sweetheart, Alfred.”

He chuckled, moving his hand over to gently cup and palm the flesh between Arthur’s legs, making the smaller male gasp as his eyes widened. “Yeah, but I’m also kind of impatient to finally make love to my Angel.”

_My Angel._

Arthur’s heart fluttered to hear that, and his body was quickly growing warmer due to the way Alfred was touching him—sweat was starting to form on the back of his neck. It was almost impossible not to lift his hips in an attempt to increase the contact, so he didn’t try to resist. He let a keening whine escape as he bucked, giving Alfred a pleading look. Now was not the time for teasing!

Luckily, the American took the hint and kissed him again, his touches on Arthur’s member becoming firmer and more deliberate. It had the Angel squirming, his breath coming in short gasps when Alfred pulled away and began kissing down his neck, pausing to lick the mark he’d left earlier, then continued down. The heat of a tongue against his skin made Arthur tremble, his back arching off the bed. Alfred’s tongue traced all the way from the hollow of his throat to his bellybutton.

“A-Alfred,” he managed, lifting his head to look down just in time to see the taller male flash a smirk back at him, one that had him gulping. In the next moment, hot breath caressed that most sensitive of places and Arthur’s entire body tensed in anticipation. His hands gripped the blankets beneath him and his knees drew up slightly, framing Alfred between them. It was sexy, there was no denying that, especially when one of the American’s hands wrapped around his thigh, fingers digging in just slightly, and he began kissing the limb without breaking eye contact with the green-eyed Angel.

_O-oh…just get on with it…sexy bastard…_

Watching Arthur’s face slowly turn redder and redder had to be one of the best things in the world. And having those green eyes watch him so intently…well if that didn’t turn him on, nothing would. He was finally going to make love to the Angel he’d rescued all those days and weeks ago. Never mind that he didn’t know what had changed Arthur’s mind or what the consequences might be; none of that mattered right now.

“You look a little impatient, Artie,” he cooed before licking the thigh in his grasp. It made Arthur shudder and oh that was a beautiful sight.

“Sh-shut up…don’t know why you’re teasing...”

Alfred laughed at that and he let his hand slide down to cup the smaller male’s hip. God he’d missed how perfectly it fit into his palm. “Who’s teasing?” Before Arthur could reply, the bespectacled male ducked his head and took the entirety of the Angel’s length into his mouth. A strangled cry sounded and he felt the golden blond jerk, but he was too focused to take the time and glance up to see the expression that came with the sound. He was sure it was sexy as hell, though.

_Slowly…_

No way was he going to rush this, not now, not ever. So he started off gently, letting his tongue rub and caress the object in his mouth as he sucked, head bobbing just slightly. Within moments he felt fingers gripping his hair and knew that Arthur wanted him to be firmer and faster, judging by the insistent tugs and the way the Angel’s hips were rolling, anyway. He understood completely, but that was going to have to wait because he was enjoying the little mewls tumbling from Arthur’s lips too much to do anything but continue exactly as he was.

A gentle flick against the tip earned a gasp and Alfred grinned before slowly lifting his head, almost but not quite letting go. When he moved back down he hummed, knowing the vibrations would go all the way through the Angel’s length and into his body—the fingers tightening in his hair and a drawn-out moan told him he was right.

Letting his hand move to gently hold the base of Arthur’s now-slick member, Alfred took his mouth away and lightly blew on the spit-covered skin. He watched the Angel shiver, knew the whine was coming before it sounded.

“Please, Alfred…”

The sound of his name made him look up and meet Arthur’s gaze. His green eyes were only partially open, hazy as they stared down at him through eyelashes and messy golden bangs. His cheeks were flushed and his lower lip was swollen from having been bitten.

_Beautiful._

Everything about this man was perfect. There wasn’t a single detail that Alfred would have changed, except maybe take away the pain behind faded scars. But the scars themselves didn’t bother him—they were part of Arthur so he loved them just the same.

“Alfred? Are you all right?” There was concern in the Angel’s tone, and his forehead was creased slightly.

“Yeah.” The blue-eyed blond smiled. “Never better.”

Slowly, he dragged his tongue from base to tip, his fingers stroking and rubbing the swollen flesh. When he reached the head a new taste made him pause and he realized with a smirk that Arthur was already leaking precum. It was a salty-sweet flavor, one that he rather enjoyed, and he wrapped his tongue around the Angel’s length as he sucked, both to not let a trace of the substance escape and to encourage the smaller male’s body to produce more of it.

“A-Alfred!”

That was it.

With his hands pinning pale hips to the bed, Alfred relaxed his jaw and took Arthur as deep as he could manage, letting his teeth scrape and tug as he went. His tongue found and rubbed against a vein, driving sound after sound from the Angel. And he sucked, sucked hard as the taste of precum filled his mouth and Arthur writhed, pulling almost abusively at the hair in his grasp.

It urged Alfred on, had him humming deep in his throat while his tongue twisted and rubbed. His fingers dug into the Angel’s hips, not hard enough to bruise but enough to keep the golden blond from bucking.

“Hnn…Alf-fred…nn…shit…I…I’m—!”

Arthur’s muscles tensed in preparation and Alfred immediately pulled away, left the Angel on the verge of his climax. That taste lingered as he licked the spit and precum from his lips.

Panting, Arthur sat up enough to glare at the taller blond. “Why’d you stop?” he demanded, a desperate edge to his tone. “It hurts to be this bloody close, you know!”

Yeah, Alfred knew, and part of him was tempted to take pity on his soon-to-be lover. Arthur’s erection did look painful and he knew it would be easy to give him some relief, but he had a plan in mind and he wasn’t about to give it up for the sake of a blowjob.

“I know, Artie.” Smiling, he kissed the Angel’s hip then crawled up his body, dropping open-mouthed kisses as he went. Not until they were face-to-face did he cease his kisses and instead rub his nose against the smaller male’s. “I’m not trying to be mean, but I don’t want you to cum without me.”

Any argument Arthur had been about to put forth vanished from his mind and he stared at Alfred for a moment before looking away, his cheeks flushing darker. “…fine then.” It was undeniably sweet of the ash blond to want something like that and he couldn’t deny the human when he was acting so affectionate. Besides, they were about to make love for the first time. It should be done properly.

Chuckling, Alfred cupped the Angel’s cheek in his hand and turned his face back so he could kiss him. Arthur responded without needing to be encouraged, slipping his tongue into the larger male’s mouth and wrapping his arms around Al’s neck to draw closer. Their mouths fit together perfectly, lips and tongues moving in a deep but gentle kiss as their bodies pressed against each other. A moan escaped the smaller of the two when his painfully hard length was rubbed against and he shuddered, grinding against Alfred without making the conscious decision to. That in turn made the American press the Angel into the mattress, his attention turning to the neck that would soon bear more than a few marks.

“God, Artie,” he muttered under his breath as nails dragged over his back, not breaking the skin but leaving long red lines; he arched into the touch, a shudder working down his spine. “I want you so bad right now.”

Hearing it put a smile on Arthur’s lips and he slipped his tongue out to trace along the curve of Alfred’s ear. “I’m all yours.”


	38. Chapter 38

His heart was going to beat right out of his chest and he knew Alfred could feel it because the American had decided that Arthur’s nipples deserved a little bit of attention. Well, a lot of attention. So he’d latched his mouth onto one while his fingers toyed with the other and sent his free hand rubbing up and down the smaller male’s side. It would have been embarrassing to be touched there if Arthur hadn’t been enjoying it so much, but the truth was that he couldn’t not love anything Alfred decided to do with that damned mouth, and that included the way he was sucking the Angel’s nipple, the way he played with tongue and teeth to work every shudder and sound possible out of the smaller blond.

_O-ohhh my God…_

Alfred’s fingers pinching and twisting made him arch his back off the bed as his breath hitched in his throat. “Hah…Alfred…” He couldn’t take this anymore. He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair that he was so hard it hurt, that he’d been abandoned mere milliseconds from his release and now Alfred was toying with him like this while he had to lie there unable to do anything back.

A particularly slow, long lick left him trembling, fingers curling ever tighter into the blankets beneath him. Then Alfred pulled away and for a moment Arthur thought that the American was finished, that his next move would be to slick up some of those beautiful calloused fingers and stretch him wider than ever in preparation for what was coming. But his hope was crushed when all the bespectacled blond did was trade nipples. The heat of his mouth made Arthur gasp and those little sparks of pleasure going up his spine made it impossible to keep still. They forced him to squirm and arch and bite his lip and ohhh bloody hell the git was sucking on it!

“A-Alfred!” He meant to sound angry or at least annoyed, definitely impatient because they were supposed to be making love, damn it, and the wanker was teasing him! But it didn’t come out that way. He didn’t sound even remotely angry. Rather, his voice came out a little breathless, almost a whine that betrayed how desperate all this was making him and to be honest he sounded like he might start crying if Alfred didn’t get a move on. It made the taller blond chuckle.

“You sound so needy right now,” he teased before lightly blowing on the soft mound he’d been tending to so diligently. It made Arthur shiver and he did his best to glare even as a blush darkened the red that already colored his cheeks.

“Sh-shut up, wanker.”

Chuckling, Alfred moved up so he could look into those eyes and smiled before leaning down to kiss him. Arthur’s mouth was open before their lips even touched, his tongue already sliding out to meet the larger male’s as he wrapped his arms around Al’s neck, pulled him closer so that their bodies pressed together.

“Arthur…”

Green met blue when they parted and the Angel shifted just slightly, looking up at Alfred as he played with the hair at the name of the American’s neck. It was soft and he couldn’t help but twist it around his fingers, run his hands through it. And those eyes—he felt like he could drown in them. The way Alfred looked at him made him more embarrassed than he’d ever been before, like he was most precious thing in the world. No one had looked at him that way in a long, long time.

_I could stay like this forever. I want to stay with Alfred forever._

_But I can’t._

Oh, no, he was going to cry. He could feel his throat starting to tighten, tears pricking at his eyes and he swallowed hard to force the emotions back under control. Now wasn’t the time for crying, even if it was over something that mattered so much. That could come later. After. Right now he had a human to give up his wings for.

“You okay?” There was concern in Alfred’s voice and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

“I’m all right, but you know, love,” he used his grip on the American’s hair to pull him down far enough to whisper in his ear, “I’d be a lot better if you’d stop all this teasing and make love to me like I’ve been dreaming about for so long.” It was easy to feel the shudder that when through Alfred’s body, and he couldn’t deny that the hot breaths against his neck were sending goosebumps over every inch of his skin.

“I’m not teasing.”

“No?” One of his hands moved to run down the blue-eyed man’s spine and Alfred arched into the touch, putting barely an inch of space between their stomachs. Arthur smirked as he let his nails trail all the way back up to make his soon-to-be lover arch even more. “Then what are you doing?”

“Mm…” A kiss was placed on his neck. “Worshipping you.”

_Smooth-talker._

As flattering as that was, Arthur fought back the urge to blush and hide his face and mumble that he wasn’t worth worshipping. He was nothing special, after all. But he knew Alfred’s only response would be to start convincing him that he was worth it, and he knew he wouldn’t last very long before giving in, so he decided to skip that entire process.

“Worship me another way, then,” the smaller blond suggested, lifting his hips to press against Al’s as he rolled them. A gasp sounded right next to his ear and, thankfully, the American matched his movements flawlessly.

“It’s really starting to get uncomfortable, love. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

_You took me to the brink and left me, remember?_

“Right, right.” Alfred sat up, looking properly guilty and embarrassed for the delay. “I forgot, sorry. Uh,” he blushed now, rubbing the back of his head, “I guess I thought I should take as long as possible. Not to keep you waiting, or anything, but I know you said you could lose your wings for this and if I won’t see you again until I die then I wanna be able to remember every little bit of you perfectly. I just…don’t want this to be over.”

He was too cute. It wasn’t fair. Watching him blush and smile shyly like that made Arthur want to cuddle the man until the end of days and he would have done if he could have.

“That sounds perfect,” he commented, smiling as Alfred looked at him in mild surprise, “and I would love to take as much time learning you, but we don’t have forever, Alfred. I…I’m not supposed to be here, and they’ll come to get me soon. I don’t want to miss this chance, so…”

There was actual fear in those blue eyes now and Alfred’s attention went to the door as if it might burst open at any moment. “This isn’t fair, Arthur.” That gaze moved back to him and the Angel sat up so he could put his hands on the American’s cheeks.

“I know it isn’t, but it’s the best we have. Now, I want you forget what I just said and focus on me because if you don’t hurry up and make love to me before I have to leave again, I’ll never forgive you.”

Alfred stared at him for a moment, blinking those big blue eyes before nodding, then he sat back on his heels and lifted a hand to his mouth. Before he could do anything more than that, though, Arthur grabbed his wrist and pulled the larger male’s hand towards himself, looking Alfred straight in the eye as he slid three of the human’s fingers into his mouth and began to suck on them.

“You look really sexy,” Al managed after a few moments of this, and Arthur smirked around the fingers. Damn right he looked sexy.

A few more seconds and the Angel was content with his work, though he let his tongue rub a little as he released Alfred’s hand. Without a word, he turned and lay on his stomach, looking back over his shoulder at the other blond. Alfred merely stared at him until Arthur lifted an eyebrow.

“What?”

The question seemed to shake him out of some sort of daze because Alfred blinked several times then grinned embarrassedly. “Nothing.” He shifted, rearranging them both so that he was kneeling between the Angel’s legs, his expression determined, and Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Did I surprise you? Have you forgotten what we’ve done together? I’m an Angel, Alfred, not some blushing virgin.” To prove his point, he brought his knees up just enough that his hips were lifted off the mattress and his rear was quite literally offered to the American; watching him flush even darker and try to look away but not manage to was deeply amusing. “I’m not nearly as shy as you seem to think.”

“N-no, I know, just, ah…”

Arthur chuckled, slowly swaying his hips from side to side and grinning when Alfred’s eyes followed the movement. “You’ve fingered me before, Alfred. Don’t tell me it’s different when you’re watching what you’re doing.”

His teasing made Alfred sit up straighter, his expression hungry as he examined the Angel’s backside. “Fuck no. Now,” his voice dropped into a familiar seductive purr, “lift your hips a little higher for me, you naughty little Angel.”

That alone almost made Arthur groan and he was tempted to refuse just to force Alfred into being more aggressive—he was almost positive those hands could persuade him to do almost anything the American wanted. It certainly would have been something to try if they had the time, but as it was he simply nodded and brought his knees up a little farther.

Hands settled on his hips then slid around to his backside, cupping the flesh as Alfred rubbed and squeezed. “Good boy.”A particularly hard squeeze had the Angel fighting to keep back his sounds and he shuddered to feel one of Alfred’s thumbs sliding along the part.

_God I can’t take this._

Arthur let out a whimper and shifted, gripping the blankets as his knees slid farther apart from each other. “Please, Alfie,” he begged, his tone full of all the want and need that was coursing through his body because he’d been hard too bloody long and that damn American was wasting time! “I want you. Please.”

There was no response, but a moment later one of the hands disappeared. A few seconds passed and then a slick finger ran down from his tail bone and Arthur shivered, his whole body tensing in anticipation. When it found his entrance he let out a shuddering breath and forced himself to relax, closed his eyes and gave a small nod. The finger rubbed, sending odd little sensations up his spine and he couldn’t help but squirm.

“Alfred!”

As soon as the name left his mouth that finger pressed into him, pushing past the ring of muscle, and Arthur let out a soft moan.

_Yes. Finally._

“Move it,” the Angel commanded breathlessly, and Alfred obeyed as his other hand held onto one pale hip, keeping Arthur still as he pumped and twisted that finger. When he added a second digit the smaller blond couldn’t help but arch his back, couldn’t keep from lifting his hips even higher in encouragement.

It had been too long. He’d gone so long without any sort of intimacy after losing Francis and now he’d managed to find Alfred—every little move of those fingers made Arthur want more and yet he felt like he could barely take the pleasure already being given to him. It wasn’t like the few other times Alfred had done this to him or the times he’d fingered himself. This wasn’t being fucked with fingers, this was preparing him to have sex for the first time in centuries.

_Not sex…make love…_

“Nn…Alf-fred…” The Angel forced one eye open so he could look back and see the blue-eyed blond smile back at him.

“Yeah?”

Those fingers scissored apart and a groan was pulled from Arthur’s throat as his hips bucked of their own accord. He could feel it, could feel his skin and muscles being stretched and rubbed against as Alfred twisted his fingers and pushed them deeper into the smaller male’s body than before and god it felt good. It always felt good for Alfred to do anything to him.

“I…I can’t…” It was difficult to get words out.

“You can’t what?” A kiss was placed on the Angel’s back just before he felt the fingers spread and twist.

“A-ah!” Unable to stop himself, Arthur yanked at the blankets and kicked. Git!”

What the hell was that bastard playing at?! First that torturous blowjob and now this?!

“Don’t be mean, Artie.” The heat of a tongue dragging up his spine made him shiver and Arthur couldn’t help but whine.

“Please…”

Teeth caught his ear and tugged gently. “Please what?”

“Please, Alfred!” He knew he sounded desperate and he was starting to sweat, could feel his entire body trembling with how close he’d been for so long and now the pleasure that turned every breath into a gasp or sound but wasn’t enough to take him over. If this went on for much longer he was going to lose it. “I-I want…nng….you…”

As if he’d been waiting for it—which the git probably had—Alfred chose that moment to carefully add a third and spread them apart as far as the surrounding flesh would allow. It had Arthur shuddering as the Angel bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and if he could have formed the words he would have demanded that Alfred stop and take him immediately. He couldn’t believe how needy this human was making him yet he wasn’t even remotely surprised, only wanted everything Alfred could give him.

“Nng…Al…hah…h-hurry up…”

This time, the American didn’t make him force out anything else and began moving his fingers at a deep, steady pace as he rubbed at Arthur’s inner walls. It was amazing how well he could feel it—he’d forgotten since going back to heaven—and the smaller blond didn’t try even a little bit to keep quiet, didn’t try to stop himself from moving with Alfred’s fingers. He knew he was acting like an animal in heat and he didn’t care. Why should he?

Hips rolling, Arthur pressed his face into the mattress as a particularly loud moan left him. Alfred’s fingers were so close to his prostate that it was murder to wait for him to find it on his own. He shifted in an attempt to guide the bespectacled blond, felt Alfred follow his movements and press just a little deeper.

_Ohhhhh fuck._

He couldn’t help it; the moment those calloused fingers rubbed against his prostate Arthur bucked hard as a cry was ripped out of him, his whole body shaking. Surprisingly, the bolt pleasure didn’t make him cum and Alfred pulled his fingers away after a moment.

“Is that enough?”

Now more out of breath than ever, the green-eyed Angel looked back over his shoulder and nodded. Bloody finally. He watched as Alfred carefully removed his fingers and shuddered, closing his eyes. It made him feel rather empty and he turned onto his back as quickly as his trembling limbs would allow, more impatient than ever. Alfred was smiling at him, blue eyes bright and happy.

“I’m gonna make love to you, Artie,” he whispered, and a shiver went down the smaller male’s spine.

“I’m going to make love with you, Alfred,” the Angel replied, matching the American’s quiet tones. His response made the other man’s smile grow and Alfred wasted no time in positioning himself above the golden blond, bracing himself on his forearms so that Arthur could feel his weight but didn’t bear any of it. They were so close to together that their noses brushed and Arthur smiled, blushing lightly to feel the American’s erection pressed against his own. It is incredible how much heat the human was giving off, but Arthur knew his body was at least as warm and probably warmer. Besides, it felt nice.

“Go on, love,” he encouraged, smiling gently as he once more wrapped his arms around Alfred’s neck. The blue-eyed blond nodded.

“Spread your legs for me.” It was said in such low, husky tones that Arthur didn’t even think before complying, eagerly letting his legs fall open as Alfred positioned himself.

This was it.

_I’m going to make love with Alfred Jones. I’m going to make love. I’m going to have sex for the first time since 1493. I’m going to giving up my wings for him._

The same thoughts kept running through his mind, refusing to be brushed aside or forgotten even as kisses were placed on his neck and chest. Oh, God. He was about to have sex.

“You’re trembling.” A warm cheek nuzzled against his own, soft and comforting. “Everything all right?”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond but produced nothing more than a squeak, instantly flushing a dark red and hiding his face in Alfred’s shoulder.

“Hey,” the American kissed his neck, a comforting gesture instead of seductive, “it’s all right. You’re fine. We don’t have to if you’re too nervous, Artie.”

What the hell was wrong with him? For weeks he wanted nothing more than he wanted this and now that he was finally here, his nerves were getting the better of him!

_Get it together, Arthur. You don’t have much time. They’ll be here any minute—make love to him while you have the chance. Don’t waste this chance._

“Arthur?”

“I…” He cleared his throat before relaxing back against the blankets and pillows once more. “I’m fine.”

An uncertain smile appeared on Alfred’s face. “You sure?”

The longer he looked at that smile, the more confident Arthur became, until it got to the point where he’d have been angry if the American decided not to do this. Slowly, he grinned.

“You’d better bloody believe I’m sure. Now, you handsome git, I want you in me within the next five seconds or I’ll take care of myself, and you won’t get to watch.”

Both of Alfred’s eyebrows went up before he chuckled, one hand caressing its way down Arthur’s side until it reached his waist and helped the Angel lift his hips. “I fucking love it when you get bossy like that.”

“Mm…I’ll keep that in mind…”

They laughed together, though the sound quickly transformed into soft moans due to the friction their movements caused. His hand still on Arthur’s waist, Alfred met the smaller blond’s gaze and held it as, carefully, he moved his hips forward. Breath hitching, the Angel arched his back and bit his lip but didn’t look away, didn’t dare break that eye contact.

“God you’re tight…”

Hearing it made Arthur tense just slightly and Alfred let out a strangled groan to have the heat surrounding his length tighten farther.

“Ah…shit…don’t do that…”

“Don’t you go saying things like that, then,” Arthur shot back, though every word was a little breathier and soon he had to look away as his eyes closed, hips rolling. “Nng…hell…move…”

Alfred nodded and drew back just as carefully as he’d initially buried himself in the golden blond before gently thrusting back in. They moaned together, Arthur’s nails digging into the skin of the American’s back a little as he tried to pull his new lover closer. As the larger male drew back again he reached up and bit Alfred’s tanned neck, muffling his groan, and began to suck in order to leave a mark to claim him.

Oh, god, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Could only cling to Alfred and try to retain some semblance of coherency as the American’s movements grew less hesitant and more confident, deeper and firmer and how had he ever resisted doing this? He should have seen this coming from day one and embraced it in that first moment, never should have ignored a single urge to kiss this man. The pace was slow but that didn’t matter because it was Alfred and Arthur couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so full as his hips rocked up to meet the American’s on every thrust.

“Arthur…”

The Angel’s name came out on a breath and he felt the pace start to pick up, felt Alfred’s hand tighten on his waist. It pulled a moan from him and he forced himself to take his face from where it had nestled against Alfred’s neck so he could meet the man’s eyes. The blue he loved so much was hazy but no less vivid than usual and he kissed the larger male without pausing to think about it because what was there to think about? He was there and so was Alfred—they were _finally_ making love and he was going to kiss that man as much as he wanted.

Immediately, a coffee-flavored tongue slid over his lip in a search for entrance and Arthur bucked weakly as he opened his mouth to the ash blond, swallowed the groan that followed and wasted no time in meeting the invading appendage with his own. Deep but gentle, that was how they kissed now as Alfred pressed the Angel harder against the mattress, found one of Arthur’s hands and held onto it, their fingers laced together in a tight grip.

“A-Alfred…Alfred…” Gasping, Arthur broke away from the kiss as his back and hips lifted off the bed, searching for more contact. “Hah…god…” he paused to groan, smiling a little at the touch of lips brushing against his chest, “more, Alfred…please…”

His body was already flooding with sensations—Alfred’s breath on his neck and chest, the strong hand gripping his own so firmly, their stomachs and hips rubbing together with little friction thanks to the sweat quickly gathering on both their bodies, and every little bit of pleasure that came from where they were connected in the most intimate of ways. It was sparks and bolts, raced up his spine and tingled in his fingertips as he held onto Alfred, made his toes curl and his chest heave with the effort of getting in enough oxygen. He was so warm, especially in his stomach. It felt tight, that familiar building pressure that had refused to die down even while the American was doing almost nothing to him.

“You…ah…you want a little r-rough?” Alfred asked, short of breath as well and trembling both from the effort he’d already given and the strain of having to hold himself back for fear of hurting the smaller man. Shit Arthur was tight, even after being stretched, and he wasn’t getting any looser. It was amazing, the best thing he’d ever felt in his life and he couldn’t get enough of this Angel, wanted to pull him close and hold him tight, hear every little sound that left those lips and guard them jealously so no one else would ever get to hear. And seeing him like this, watching him arch and squirm, how his jaw moved to let out sounds without ever fully closing, his golden hair tousled and darkened by sweat as it stuck to his forehead, the way his glowing skin now had a sheen to it…it was beautiful. And hearing his name come out on sighs and gasps and moans, well, he’d never get tired of that.

While Arthur tried to form an answer, the American went back to kissing that narrow chest, caught drops of sweat on his tongue and nipped occasionally just to give himself little red marks that he could kiss and lick all he wanted. But then his attention was caught by one of the Angel’s pert nipples and he zeroed in on it, catching the nub between his teeth and tugging—one of those delicious gasps sounded—before he laved it with his tongue and sucked. Arthur shuddered beneath him, making little whimpering sounds that sounded pleasantly like begging.

“O-oohhh my God, Alfred…fuck…nn…s-so good…”

It made him grin to hear that, but his world went fuzzy for a moment when the Angel gave an unexpected buck and a whine; every muscle in his body tensed and his hips moved forward a little rougher than before, driving a groan from his green-eyed lover.

“Artie…”

“Alfred…” Hands tangled in his hair and pulled until he was face-to-face with Arthur, the smaller male’s eyebrows drawn together out of concentration. “Do that again…but deeper…I want—hnng—to call your name…”

Yes. Fuck, yes.

Nodding, Alfred put both hands on the Angel’s hips and sat back so he was kneeling on the bed with his weight on his heels, using his grip to pull Arthur with him so that his lower back was supported on the American’s legs. Confused green eyes looked up at him and he merely smiled a little before bucking his hips upwards, driving himself farther into Arthur’s body than he’d previously dared to. Those green eyes went wide before squeezing shut and he arched, hands fisting in the blankets.

“Alfred!”

Again and again, each thrust a little rougher than the last. His hold on those pale glowing hips was so tight it would likely leave bruises, but they would be faint. Arthur didn’t seem to care—he was too busy trying to catch his breath between thrusts to really notice. Besides, it wasn’t painful.

This position gave him a better view, let him watch Arthur’s reactions to everything he did. He could see the muscles shifting beneath that flawless skin, watched as the golden blond pulled at the blankets and tossed his head back to show off the marks on his throat. Alfred’s marks.

“You’re mine, Arthur,” the American growled softly, running his hands up to the Angel’s ribcage and using the new leverage to pull him up until he was straddling the larger male. Arthur’s arms draped loosely around his neck and his cheek rested on Al’s shoulder, body shuddering and shaking as they continued to move together. “All mine.”

With a weak nod, Arthur kissed the neck before him and shifted closer to the human. His body was starting to refuse his commands, was too caught up in the throes of pleasure to put its strength to use. The tightness in his stomach was almost unbearable and it went without saying that his erection had been ignored for too long.

“I…I want to…ah…to cum, Alf-fred…please…” he begged. He wasn’t going to be able to take this much longer, not with the way his entire body was trembling and his hips kept jerking. God he was getting desperate. That was the word, desperate. All he wanted at this point was for Alfred to take him hard and deep and fast and touch him until he burst, so that they could go together and then hopefully have a few moments before everything went to hell again.

“Hold onto me,” Alfred commanded quietly, wrapping one arm around the Angel’s slim waist to steady him as Arthur did as he was told. When he was sure the smaller man wouldn’t let go, he sent his free hand between their bodies and found the green-eyed blond’s member, gripping it gently and giving a firm pump. A gasp sounded and a shuddered wracked Arthur’s body at the touch, quickly followed by a loud groan.

“Again…”

Alfred couldn’t have refused if he’d wanted to. His hips still moving beneath his lover, he began pumping and twisting his hand at the same pace. Within seconds his palm was slick with the Angel’s precum and he used it to help him stroke faster, bucking harder to match.

“ _Fuck! Alfred!_ ”

Finally.

Determined to get both of them to release now that he’d found it again, the American adjusted Arthur on his lap enough to ensure that every thrust would hit directly against the Angel’s prostate. He settled back into his rhythm, holding the smaller male close as Arthur’s nails dug into his back and he cried out. It was a beautiful sound and he put all of his energy into making Arthur do it again and again, until he didn’t have a rhythm anymore but was moving only for the sake of that voice calling his name.

Harder, rougher, faster and faster until suddenly the heat surrounding him tightened so much that it almost hurt and Arthur screamed, his head thrown back as his entire body tensed; Alfred felt something warm on his stomach a split second before white hot pleasure took over his world. Every muscle shuddered and tightened, forcing him to give one last vicious buck—Arthur let out a soft groan—and release as deep inside the Angel’s body as possible.

“Arthur…!” Bliss, pure and perfect, filled his veins and put a smile on his lips.

Then his movements began to slow. His hand released the smaller blond’s quickly softening member and his hips rolled gently for a few seconds before stopping completely. Out of breath, covered in sweat and exhausted, the two leaned against each other for support.

“Damn…how am I…gonna live with…without you…?” Alfred panted, face nuzzled into the Angel’s neck and both arms now wrapped around his waist.

Smiling weakly and with his eyes closed, Arthur lifted one trembling hand and began running it through sweaty ash blond locks. “I don’t know…but do your best for me, all right?”

The American managed a few tired nods before straightening as best as he could manage and helping Arthur climb off of him so that they could lie down together. As soon as they’d settled on the mattress, Alfred wrapped his arms around his Angel and pulled the golden blond close, kissed his forehead and brushed sweat-darkened bangs out of his eyes.

“Mm…love you…”

“Love you, too…”

Silence took over the bedroom as they slowly caught their breath. Over the next several minutes, their hearts stopped pounding, the sweat began to dry on their skin and soon they were on the verge of falling asleep, still wrapped in each others’ arms.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door.

“When you’re ready, please dress. I need to speak with you. Both of you.”

Two pairs of eyes went wide and the blonds stared at each other, shocked and a little afraid of what was waiting for them outside.


	39. Chapter 39

Panicking was not the thing to do and yet Arthur could barely keep himself from completely losing it. His chest was painfully tight; it was difficult to breathe and he could feel his pulse racing. 

_They’ll take me away. That was Romulus at the door, but there’s no telling if he’s alone or not. I don’t know that the High Council members ever leave heaven except in the case of an emergency, so I doubt they came with, but he still might not be alone. There’s no telling what will happen when we go out there._

It made him want to shout in frustration but he remained silent as he dressed, retrieving the boxers and his toga from the floor where they’d fallen. Alfred was just as quiet as the American dressed.

“Ready?” Arthur asked, smoothing the front of his toga one last time. They faced each other, both nervous and a little disheveled but mostly presentable.

Blue eyes moved to look at the door, apprehensive. “Who’s waiting out there?”

Together, the two blonds turned and Arthur reached out to hold the taller male’s hand. “Romulus. I don’t know who else.”

“What’s gonna happen when we go out?”

Hard to say, exactly, but Arthur knew his future was about to be decided and there was nothing he could do to affect what would happen. “I’m not sure.” Trying to comfort the American, he squeezed Alfred’s hand gently and smiled up at him. “Let’s go.”

Alfred nodded, and they left the bedroom in silence. As Arthur had said, Romulus was waiting for them, and though he appeared entirely comfortable, the brunet Angel couldn’t have looked more out of place sitting on Alfred’s couch in his brown and gold robes, wings draped to the sides because they were too large to keep folded. It would have been a funny sight if the situation hadn’t been so delicate.

As soon as Alfred and Arthur entered the living room, Romulus smiled and gestured for them to seat themselves. “Pardon my intrusion, Alfred.”

More than a little confused, the taller blond stared for a moment before shaking his head. “Uh…it’s fine…” Frowning slightly, he lowered himself into the chair, blue gaze locked on the Angel. “Romulus, right?”

The brunet Angel’s smile grew. “Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah…you, too…”

Romulus’ gaze moved to Arthur and he gave the blond Angel a questioning look.

“I’d prefer to remain standing,” Arthur stated, positioning himself next to the chair and letting his hand rest on its back near Alfred’s head. It was a protective stance, one that clearly displayed his unwillingness to be parted from the human and that he wouldn’t allow any harm to come to him.

The older inclined his head slightly, not at all surprised. “Very well.”

It was quiet for several moments, then Alfred dared to glance up at Arthur before returning his gaze to the brunet. “So…what happens now?”

“Well,” Romulus began, straightening the folds of his robes, “Arthur broke one of the only laws we Angels have. There are consequences that cannot be avoided.”

He’d known that was coming but hearing it still sent a shiver of dread through Arthur’s body and he tightened his grip on the chair back. This was it. He was going to lose his wings because he’d made love with Alfred, and then he’d go to the afterlife to wait for him there. Maybe he would be able to find Francis—it would be nice to see him again, but painful, too, and he knew it wouldn’t be easy to tell the Frenchman about Alfred. Definitely not as easy as it had been in his dream all those weeks ago.

 _Focus, Arthur._ Two pairs of eyes were on him, waiting for him to respond, and he straightened his spine.

“I’m prepared to accept my fate.”

“Yes,” the brunet Angel’s tone was musing, “but what fate would that be?”

A little bit of the stiffness went out of him and Arthur frowned. “What do you mean?”

“As you well know, Arthur, there are two ways this can end. Either you give up your life as an Angel and cross over, in which case Alfred will lose all memories of you in order to protect him, or Alfred comes to heaven to live as an immortal by your side. One of you will lose the life you’ve had up until this point.” Expression and posture completely relaxed, Romulus looked from one blond to the other. “The question that remains is which future do you want?”

“I want to come to heaven,” Alfred spoke up immediately, shifting forward to sit on the very edge of the chair. “I want to be with Arthur.”

Unable to help but smile a little, the green-eyed Angel blushed and moved his hand to the American’s shoulder. “I agree.”

“Do you?” Romulus’ eyes were questioning. “I recall you admitting you didn’t want to take Alfred away from this world, Arthur. Have you changed your mind?”

“No. But I would rather take him from a world that’s harmed him than leave him here while I cross over and can no longer do anything to help him.” There was no hesitation in his tone, no doubt in his bearing, and a moment later Alfred had wrapped an arm around the smaller blond’s waist in order to pull Arthur down onto the bespectacled man’s lap. The gesture made Arthur blush, but he didn’t struggle, choosing instead to lean back against his lover’s chest with a content smile.

Alfred kissed his Angel’s shoulder before looking at Romulus. “If you take Arthur, you’re taking me, too,” he declared, both arms holding Arthur close to himself, just as protective as the green-eyed Angel had been a few moments before.

“I admire your dedication, but this is not an easy decision.” There was concern in the older Angel’s expression. “What if you grow tired of Arthur in a century or two? It’s a risk the Council isn’t willing to take.”

Clearly offended, Alfred glared at the man sitting on his couch. “Grow tired of him? How? You think I’d have lost interest in him before just because we couldn’t have sex? No. That has nothing to do with the way I feel about him. Being in heaven won’t change how I feel any more than not being able to make love to him did. I’m not a shallow asshole, you know. I love Arthur—I’d never do anything to hurt him. Ever.”

“Shhh, love,” Arthur soothed, turning enough to be able to look into Alfred’s eyes. “There’s no need to be angry.”

“No need to be angry?” A frown creased Alfred’s forehead as he looked back at the smaller male. “There’s a strange Angel in my apartment, telling me that I’m going to live the rest of my life alone and miserable because they can’t trust me to stay in love with you. That’s bullshit, Artie, and you know it. You know I love you. You know I won’t be tired of you in ten minutes or in ten millennia. Growing tired of you is like…growing tired of breathing.”

Blushing a little, Arthur smiled and picked up one of the American’s hands, lacing their fingers before kissing the larger man’s knuckles. “I know.” His response managed to ease the sharpness of Alfred’s features until the blue-eyed blond returned his smile, and then the two shared a small kiss. It might have been longer, but then Arthur remembered that his friend and superior was sitting only a few feet away, which caused his blush to darken and for him to pull away from Alfred rather quickly.

“You know how I feel, Romulus,” he said quietly, hoping to appeal to the brunet Angel’s compassion. “You’ve known almost as long as I have. I trust Alfred.”

“Yes, I know.” Deep in thought, Romulus turned his gaze from the pair and stared at the wall straight in front of him as if he were looking at someone. “Have you decided?”

Alfred and Arthur looked at each other then back at the brunet. Were they supposed to respond to that? It didn’t seem like Romulus was talking to them, but no one else was there. Though, Arthur knew there was the possibility that his fellow Angel was communicating with someone who wasn’t actually present, a power reserved only for him. He was probably talking to the High Council, as they were the ones who would ultimately determine his and Alfred’s fate.

It was silent in the apartment for several minutes as the two blonds watched their brunet companion, waiting for him to explain or at least tell them which future they were about to get. But Romulus merely waited in silence, a faraway look in his eyes as if his mind was somewhere else entirely. Eventually, Alfred started to wonder if the older Angel was ever going to speak but he didn’t dare break the silence because he had the feeling that they were expected to wait as long as it took and any interruption would be frowned upon.

“Very well,” Romulus spoke without warning, startling the other two males and earning puzzled looks from both of them.

“What is it?” Arthur was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know if he was about to lose Alfred until further notice or get to keep him forever.

The brunet turned to them, his expression full of pity; a horrible, heavy feeling settled over Arthur’s heart. “The Council has decided.”

Before Alfred or Arthur had a chance to respond, everything went white. There was no sound, no sense of feeling. Alfred felt like he was floating—the weight of Arthur in his lap and the warmth of him were gone and he thought he was reaching around but he wasn’t sure if he was actually moving.

“Arthur?” he called out, panic blooming in his chest when his voice echoed in emptiness and no response came. He couldn’t even see his own hands in front of his face. Everything was just that blinding whiteness. “Arthur!”

Was this it? Was he about to lose every memory he had of the green-eyed blond? God, no, he didn’t want that. Would he even realize what he’d lost afterwards, or would he simply go back to his life without a worry?

“Arthur!” he shouted, frantic, flinging his arms out desperately in the hopes of touching his Angel or getting to see him one last time. “Arthur, where are you?”

Silence.

“Alfred?”

It was soft, so quiet he almost missed it, but he recognized Arthur’s voice and tried to turn towards the sound. “Arthur!”

“Alfred!” Louder now, the Angel’s voice reached him, and though he still couldn’t see, the American felt something brush against his hand. Instinctively, he grabbed onto it and soon felt a smaller hand returning his grip—relief rushed through him and a smile broke out on his face.

“I thought I was forgetting you,” he admitted in a low voice.

“I thought I was crossing over,” Arthur replied, voice croaking as if his throat was too tight for him to speak normally.

Unable to stop himself, Alfred pulled the Angel forward and hugged him, moving by touch rather than sight, until he had the smaller blond securely wrapped in his arms and Arthur was holding onto him, too. Slowly, he felt weight returning to his body, felt firm ground beneath his feet; the white began to fade. The first thing he could see was Arthur, those green eyes looking up at him, filled with unshed tears but happier than he’d ever seen them. Then their surroundings began to appear, grass of a more vivid green than was possible on earth, white buildings that almost seemed to glow, a shifting, iridescent sky of every color imaginable. And people—no, Angels—standing around them in a wide circle. Some were smiling, but most looked curious or a little confused.

“Is this heaven?” he asked quietly, looking down at Arthur again because all those eyes were making him just a little uncomfortable.

“Yes.”

“Arthur.” Both blonds looked at the sound of the smaller male’s name to see Romulus standing at the front of a group of Angels apart from the others.

“That’s the High Council,” Arthur whispered, pulling out of Alfred’s embrace and turning to face them. He bowed slightly and the taller blond hurried to mimic him. “Council members.”

“Welcome,” one of the Angels replied. “We are pleased to finally meet you, Alfred.”

Blue eyes went wide and the American struggled to come up with a response. “Oh, uh, thanks.” He glanced at Arthur, clearly nervous, and the green-eyed Angel offered an assuring smile. “It’s nice to be here.” His hesitance made the Council members smile.

“As you can see, the Council has decided to allow Alfred to continue his existence here in heaven,” Romulus explained, smiling just slightly. “He won’t be an Angel, but he’s not human, either.”

“Really?” Curious, Alfred looked himself over. Nothing felt different, and he thought he looked the same, until Arthur touched his hand.

“You’re glowing, Al,” the blond Angel whispered, and Alfred took a closer look at himself only to realize that Arthur was right—he was glowing a little, just like his lover did.

“Cool,” he commented, unable to think of anything else to say.

Arthur turned back to Romulus and the other Council members. “There aren’t words to express my gratitude.” The Angels smiled and bowed one-by-one before leaving until only Romulus and the many spectators remained.

“It’s your responsibility to teach Alfred our ways and help him learn how to live here,” the brunet Angel told Arthur, tone firm though he was still smiling. “He’s your responsibility, now.”

“I understand,” the blond replied, slipping his hand into Alfred’s and lacing their fingers.

“Good. You’re dismissed to settle him into your home.”

With a nod, he turned and smiled up at the blue-eyed blond. “Ready?”

A grin appeared on Alfred’s face. “Time to meet the Angels?”

The reference to the night Arthur had met Alfred’s friends made the smaller blond chuckle and he nodded, using his grip on the American’s hand to lead him towards where several Angels all stood together.

“Alfred, these are my friends. Tino, Berwald, Gilbert, and Matthew,” he gestured to each as he said the names and Alfred nodded to each one, his grin a little shyer than usual.

“Don’t forget about me!” a loud voice piped up, and Alfred looked down to see a young boy standing in front of Tino and Berwald, his hands on his hips and a wide smile on his face. “I’m Peter!”

“Hey, Peter,” he greeted, kneeling down to put himself at eye level with the child Angel. “I’m Alfred. It’s nice to meet you.”

Surprised at the seriousness of Alfred’s response, Peter’s eyes widened slightly and a light shade of pink appeared on his cheeks. He looked away in an uncharacteristic bout of shyness, making his adoptive parents chuckle. “Hi…”

Grin still firmly in place, Alfred ruffled the boy’s hair and straightened, immediately slipping his arm around Arthur’s waist. There was no reason for him to keep touching the Angel, not now that he knew they would get to be together for the rest of eternity, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t gotten to see the man for weeks, then Arthur had arrived at the last possible moment to save his life and now he was in heaven, immortal and glowing just like his lover did. His head was still spinning with everything that had happened in the last couple of hours and having Arthur there to anchor him down was comforting, so he felt it necessary to keep in contact with the smaller blond at all times.

“So, you’re vhat all zhe fuss vas about,” Gilbert commented, disconcerting red eyes looking Alfred up and down. “Ve had to keep Arzhur under lock _und_ key because of you.”

A little embarrassed, Arthur shuffled his sandaled feet. “That was completely unnecessary.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Sure it vas. I’m still impressed vizh zhe fact you got avay at all, _und_ lucky for Alfred you did. No vonder zhe Council decided to bring Alfred here—you’d have found a vay to get back to him even if zhey took your vings.”

The others laughed and Arthur’s face turned a little red, but he didn’t deny it. Yes, he’d have tried to find a way to communicate with Alfred even though the human wouldn’t have recognized him. But he didn’t have to worry about that now, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

Soon, more Angels got up the courage to come forward and meet their new neighbor. Alfred was flooded with names and faces until he could barely remember how many Angels he’d just met. When he finally decided he’d had enough, he turned to Arthur, capturing the green-eyed blond’s face in his hands.

“What’re you—?” His question was cut off when Alfred pulled him close, the American’s lips pressing to his own and moving gently in a tender kiss. Green eyes went wide, and Arthur couldn’t help but blush even as he kissed back; the Angels around them had fallen silent and he knew he would be teased mercilessly for this, but he couldn’t manage to truly care.

Slowly, Alfred pulled away and rested his forehead against the smaller male’s, smiling fondly; Arthur’s blush darkened. Embarrassed, he pulled back and looked away only to find Romulus had moved to stand on his other side, which only made him feel even more flustered. Now was starting to seem like a good time to vanish with Alfred to his house so the once-human could settle in, but before he could, Romulus set a hand on his shoulder.

There was a small, knowing smile on the older Angel’s face as he leaned down to whisper so only Arthur could hear, “Now _that_ is what I’d call a real kiss, and I think we both know what he meant by it.”


	40. Chapter 40

_1493, Springtime, South of London_

Voices disturbed the darkness and Arthur sat up in bed, eyes squinting to pierce the shadows and ears straining. It was pitch black in their small bedroom, quiet except for the voices that steadily grew louder. They were shouting. Angry. Frightening.

“Francis,” he whispered, reaching out to touch the warm body lying beside him. Francis was still fast asleep, breathing slow and deep. But the voices were even nearer now and Arthur shook the other man until Francis too sat up.

“ _Cher,_ what is it?”

As much as he loved that sleep-slurred accent, Arthur ignored it and held onto Francis’ arm. “Listen,” he whispered, and both men grew still. Shouting voices easily penetrated the house.

“Burn then!”

“Sinners! Blasphemers!”

“Devil worshippers!”

Green eyes wide with fear, Arthur tightened his grip on the other man. “Francis,” he whimpered, and a soothing hand touched his cheek.

“Shhh, Arzhur. It will be all right. Come.”

Moving quickly but quietly, Francis abandoned the bed and pulled Arthur along with him. They dressed as quickly as they were able, not caring if their clothes matched or were done up properly. A faint red light slowly illuminated the darkness, allowing them to see a little.

“Torches.” Arthur’s voice was hoarse. “They brought torches.”

For a moment, both men paused to listen. The low murmur of dozens of voices filled the air, punctuated by occasional shouts.

“I told you I saw someone.” There was no accusation in the shorter blond’s tone. It was monotonous, as if every emotion had left him in the face of this threat. “We should have left yesterday when we had the chance.”

“Arzhur. Arzhur, look at me.”

Hands on his face made the Englishman meet his lover’s gaze, the sky blue eyes calm despite the commotion outside.

“It’s going to be all right. I promise. Okay?”

The green-eyed blond didn’t move.

“Okay, Arzhur?”

“Okay,” he replied softly, then jumped when someone pounded on the door.

“Come out or we’ll burn it down!”

Terror made Arthur tremble, hands moving up to wrap around Francis’ wrists. This was it. They’d been discovered, had only gotten to spend a few short years together. He should have tried harder yesterday to convince Francis to move; he’d known it wasn’t his imagination that someone saw them together even though they’d been in the woods, that it wasn’t safe for them here anymore. But Francis had managed to assure him that things would be all right, and now…now their friends and neighbors were outside with torches, angry and violent. They were out for blood, but Arthur wasn’t about to let them take away the only person who’d ever made him happy.

“Go.”

The Frenchman stared at him. “What? No. Arzhur, we will go togezher, we— ”

“Will you shut up?” Arthur’s eyes were hard as he glared. “Listen to them, Francis. They’re going to burn us out. We’re surrounded. At least I can give you a chance.”

As soon as he realized what that meant, tears welled up in Francis’ eyes. “ _Non,_ Arzhur. Please.”

Seeing those tears and hearing the weakness in the voice that had always spoken to him so tenderly put a pain in Arthur’s heart. Yet he forced a smile and pulled the taller blond into a hasty kiss.

“I love you,” he affirmed, not for the first time, looking straight into those eyes as Francis tried desperately to hold himself together. Then he pulled out of the Frenchman’s grasp, drew his cloak tightly around himself, and ran. Shattered wood and glass threatened to cut him when he threw himself through the window, hit the ground and rolled.

“Grab him!”

But Arthur was already up and running again, quickly crossing the space between his and Francis’ house and the surrounding woods. If he could make it to the trees he could lose them, could lead them on a wild chase until they gave up, then vanish with Francis and live in peace somewhere far away.

_Almost…!_

Just as he reached the edge of the forest, hulking figures stepped out of the shadows and reached for him. He ducked, sliding on the wet grass as his momentum continued to carry him forward before he managed to get enough traction to change his course, sprinting along the tree line as more of the villagers appeared.

Already, his lungs ached and his muscles burned, fueled by adrenaline that helped him outrun his pursuers. Only when he was met with another wall of people did he stop and back up, head tossing as he searched for a way out. There was none—a ring had formed around him, and more were coming. It looked like nearly the entire village had come to hunt them down.

In a last ditch effort to escape, he launched himself at the villagers, knocking them back but not breaking through the line; hands grabbed onto his clothes and arms, yanked his hood down and gripped his hair, pulling painfully so that he cried out.

“Get your hands off me!” he shouted, but it was too late. They hauled him back into the center of the ring again, keeping his feet off the ground as he kicked and writhed. “Let me go!”

“Hold him!” someone commanded, and many of the other voices that had been shouting insults went quiet. “Where’s the other devil?”

“He’s still in the house!”

“Bring him.”

Two of the villagers headed towards the house, one carrying a torch and the other a large, dangerous-looking hammer. Just the thought of Francis being harmed sent a fresh wave of panic through Arthur’s body and he went completely still, frozen as he watched his door being broken down and then the villagers vanishing inside.

_Please be gone. Please. Run, Francis._

Minutes passed. Crashing noises reached them from the small building, the sounds of his home being torn apart. He’d spent years on that house, had built it himself. Everything in it was made by his own hands or earned in the same way, and they were destroying it like it was nothing.

_Bastards._

Finally, the two emerged, and Arthur had never been so relieved in his life than when he saw that they didn’t have Francis with them.

“He’s gone! Must’ve snuck out while we were chasing his whore.”

The word was like a blow, made Arthur flinch back and glare.

“He won’t get far. Take some men and catch him—they’ll burn together.”

Immediately, those holding onto Arthur were binding him with rope, his hands tied behind his back, arms lashed to his sides, ankles hobbled so he could only shuffle along as the majority of the crowd began to make its way back towards the village. A sudden roar made him look back and his eyes went wide, feet stumbling over themselves.

“No!” he screamed, horrified to see his home on fire, the flames quickly consuming every bit of wood until the pillar of smoke blocked out the stars. His home! All of his things! Gone! “Savages! Bastards! Go to hell, all of you!”

They shook him, roughly, and forced him to look forward again as his home continued to burn. “You’ll be there long before us, devil.”

“I’m no devil,” the blond spat, putting as much contempt into his voice as possible. He recognized these people as the villagers he’d known for years, people he had done business with and always considered to be his friends. They had never given him trouble and he had never done anything to deserve their disrespect or suspicion. Until now.

It was terrifying to be dragged through the dark the way he was. The torches gave enough light for them to follow the path, but Arthur continuously tripped over the rope binding his ankles, had his feet kicked and stepped on by the men and women around him. Pokes, prods, and jabs made him wince. Insults were shouted and ignored to the best of his abilities. Listening to them wouldn’t do him any good, and he was too busy hoping and praying that Francis was long gone, that he’d gotten what little money they’d stashed away and vanished into the woods, run so far that they wouldn’t catch him.

_Please be safe._

The walk back to the village felt like hours, though Arthur knew it wasn’t nearly that long. Mostly, he was starting to feel his exhaustion now that the adrenaline was fading. His feet dragged in the dirt, his shoulders drooped and his head hung lower than he normally would have allowed. Not even his dignity could keep his chin up at this point—having been roused from his sleep and chased was taking its toll on him.

“Tie him there.”

Rough hands barely registered in his mind as they led him across the village courtyard and bound him to a post near the well. It was a relief to be able to sit, even if he still wasn’t free to move as he wished. His feet ached inside his boots since he hadn’t bothered to put on stockings, and the chill of the night air easily passed through his clothes now that he wasn’t surrounded by dozens of other bodies. Uncomfortable as he was, he was grateful to stop moving, and within moments a dreamless sleep overtook him.

X

Something nudged his thigh. “Wake up,” a gruff voice commanded, followed by a firmer nudge. Groggy, Arthur opened his eyes and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the last vestiges of sleep and to work some of the stiffness out of his neck. Sleeping on the ground like this hadn’t been pleasant, but he didn’t let that show as he gave the man who’d woken him a baleful glare.

“What?”

A cruel grin. “Time to confess to your crimes, blasphemer.”

“I haven’t committed any crimes,” Arthur snapped, his temper rising hot and fast. “Let me go this instant, you—”

A swift kick to his stomach effectively silenced him before he could call the man any number of insults and offensive names, and the blond was left coughing as he tried to take a breath. Pain in his ribs betrayed that they were bruised, if not cracked.

“Not another word or it’ll be the stockades for you.”

Biting his tongue, Arthur didn’t offer a reply. The things he wanted to say would only earn him another cracked rib.

Slowly, the village came to life around him. People went about their business, sometimes stopping to stare at him, most giving a wide berth as if he might be hosting some infectious disease. Children called him names and tossed stones. They missed more often than not, but a few landed good hits and left him with tender bruises. It was the children attacking him that hurt the most, since many of them had come to his house over the years and learned their skills with a paintbrush from Francis, or learned to carve from him. They’d used to look up to the man they now abused. It was just lucky that parents soon came and shooed the children away for fear he would retaliate in some way.

As the sun rose higher, Arthur found himself in a position with no shade or shelter. The heat would have been stifling if it hadn’t been spring still—the summer sun might have been too much for him—and he had little hope that it wouldn’t rain later in the day. If he was exposed to that, he would definitely fall ill. Not that his captors cared about that.

Much worse than the sun and more immediate than possible rain was the pain settling in his shoulders and back. Stiff, aching pains in his bones from the lack of movement, from ropes pulling his tendons and muscles in uncomfortable ways. It would be a relief to be untied, whenever that happened.

Time had never passed so slowly, had never been so wasted. Bitterly, Arthur thought of his home being burned. How many projects he’d had lined up, personal and for business.

A new easel for Francis.

Benches for the local chapel to replace those too old to be used any longer.

Toys for the village children.

Wood carvings that were to be done under Francis’ watchful eye.

Gone. By now, he would have been at least half finished with the easel, or carved a few simple toys. Now he was probably never going to have the chance to make any of those things.

_Francis…_

He hoped the Frenchman had gotten away. It seemed unlikely that he had, otherwise he’d have been dragged through town and tied next to Arthur. The fact that he was still alone by the well was reassuring, in a way.

By the time the sun reached its peak and signaled that it was noon, Arthur was on the verge of begging for a drink, just a sip of water to ease his dry throat.

_This is barbaric._

Even if they thought he was a sinning blasphemer who deserved to burn, they should at least have the decency to give a man a drink.

“Oi, Kirkland.”

Scowling immediately, the green-eyed blond looked up to see three men approaching him. “What do you want?”

“Aw, don’t be sour.” One of the men grinned as he began untying Arthur from the post. “I hope you’ve been praying—won’t be long now.” He hoisted the smaller male to his feet with little trouble and Arthur struggled to regain his footing, both legs all but numb after having sat motionless for so many hours. The blood rushed to his feet, made his lower half feel like it was being pricked by a thousand needles, and he almost collapsed. Thanks to the man still holding onto his arm, though, he managed to stand up straight after a few moments and rolled his neck, twisted his spine and shook the stiffness out of his shoulders.

Without another word, he was led through the town and out into a barren field nearby. A small crowd gathered and followed, growing larger as they progressed, until nearly the same mob as last night surrounded them. Arthur noted with darkening eyes that a pyre had been built, fagots piled around a tall post and chains nearby to hold him. There was a small platform, too, that had been erected in order for the priest and sheriff to watch the proceedings.

“Arthur Kirkland.” The priest was an older man, likable enough though his sermons were often dry and boring. “You have been charged with blasphemy, of sinning against our Lord God by laying down with another man, both outside the bonds of holy matrimony. Do you deny it?”

It would be so easy to lie. He could claim innocence, accuse Francis of using devil powers to force him into the acts he was facing judgment for. They would believe him—faking despair and pleading for forgiveness would be easy. By afternoon, he would walk free. He would move under the guise that this place held too many painful memories, find Francis somehow and disappear with him. Yes, it would be the easiest thing in the world to lie.

But Arthur would never be able to live with himself if he turned on the man who loved him. How would he look into those trusting blue eyes and know what he’d done? They would never find peace that way, not if Francis was hunted for devil powers. No, he wouldn’t do that.

With a stiff spine and a hard gaze, the blond looked his priest and former friend dead in the eye. Silence fell as the crowd waited.

“Love is not a sin.”

A murmur went through the crowd; there were a few shouts of “sinner” and “burn him.” Arthur didn’t look away from the man whose chapel he’d helped build. He hadn’t been an avid church-goer, but he’d never committed any sin worth mentioning. He’d always gotten along with his neighbors.

How easily people would turn on someone.

“Burn me.” It was almost a challenge. “It’s not my soul that will blacken with murder.” His claim was followed by outrage, insults and blows alike forcing him to cover his head with his arms and stumble forward, closer to the pyre.

Being closer was unnerving, made his throat feel tight, his heart pound. Threatening, that’s what it was. A promise that his life was about to end. And he was scared, just as anyone would be, but he didn’t change his mind. There was no going back now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the priest nod and tensed a split second before several pairs of hands grabbed him, dragged him forward and forced him up onto the wooden platform built to hold the stake, branches and dried brush tied around the base to let the fire thrive. Ropes were wound around his body and the post, knotted to hold him in place. He kept his mouth shut and his chin up, refused to meet the eyes of the men securing him in place. The only thing he thought about was Francis, his voice, how his accent distorted some words, the way he often slipped into French without noticing, his art and perfect smile, those eyes that promised happiness and warmth and love no matter what…

_Be safe…I love you…be safe, please…_

He thought about Francis and managed to smile even as he was left alone atop the pyre and the men below lit their torches. A low crackling filled the air; the crowd was silent, gravely watching as the torches were touched to the piled wood. They caught immediately and after a moment the fire burst, quickly consuming the timber it had been given, then catching the platform. Heat under his boots made Arthur want to look but he turned his chin up, closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the air that had yet to be poisoned by smoke.

Sweat began to gather on his skin as the heat grew more intense, then painful. He flinched away from it but had nowhere to go, twisted against the ropes even as they rubbed his skin raw through his clothes. It stung, made his nose and mouth and eyes burn with smoke; his skin felt like it was drying out and cracking, the sharp pain quickly growing as the platform and then his clothes caught.

Unbidden, he screamed, the sound high and piercing, easy to hear over the roar of the fire. Some of the spectators looked away, uncomfortable at the sight. And still he kept his eyes closed, screwed tight against the pain that was consuming him, blocked out every other sense. The screams died to choking coughs, whimpers as his body spasmed.

_God…no more…please…!_

“ _Please!_ ” he shouted, barely able to hear his own rasping voice over the roar and crackle, the snapping of wood as the platform began to collapse in on itself. He couldn’t take it anymore, he wished his heart would stop already so that he didn’t have to feel. Not even his desperation to escape the pain could hold him up as his muscles gave and his body hung limp against the ropes that were slowly weakening—the fire had gotten to them, too.

Too slowly, his vision began to fade, and then there was nothing but darkness. No sound, no light, no feeling. No pain. Blissfully, no pain.

Then weightlessness, as if he was floating in a pool of water, but he was dry. Was this what dying felt like? He’d never spent much time thinking about the afterlife but he still hadn’t imagined it would be this. Wasn’t he meant to go to heaven or hell, enjoy paradise or suffer for his sins? Or was he in limbo, judgment of his life not yet passed? Well, he was sure he’d end up in heaven. This floating sensation was pleasant, though, and he wouldn’t necessarily mind staying this way for a while. It was peaceful. Perfect after so much pain.

“Arthur.”

Disappointment that he apparently wasn’t going to enjoy this for much longer made him frown. Reason told him that if he could hear, then he should be able to speak, and it would only be polite to answer whoever had said his name.

“Yes?” he replied cautiously, because suddenly he realized that this person could be a demon to drag him to hell or an angel to guide him to heaven and if it was a demon then he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to it. Weight was starting to pull on his limbs, made him aware of which way was down, and soon he felt firm ground beneath his feet. The sensation of fabric against his skin was gone—grass tickled the bottoms of his feet and his toes, and he wondered if he were completely bare for this stranger to see.

“You can open your eyes.”

He could?

“I’m not sure if I want to.”

“Why not?”

“If this is hell, I don’t want to see it.”

The stranger chuckled and Arthur jumped to feel a hand settle on his shoulder. “This isn’t hell.”

Turning to face the direction the voice and touch had come from, Arthur frowned slightly without opening his eyes. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Any man willing to do what you’ve done has nothing to fear from me.”

“And what have I done?” the blond asked suspiciously, earning a gentle pat from that hand.

“You saved his life.”

Surprise made Arthur forget his wariness of this place and this stranger and he opened his eyes to find a tall man with messy brown hair, kind eyes and a warm smile. He was odd, dressed in brown in and gold robes that draped around his frame and all the way to the ground, just brushing the tops of the grass and partially covering his sandaled feet. But the most unusual thing about him were the massive wings that rose above his shoulders, apparently sprouted right out of the man’s back.

“You’re…an angel…” Arthur could barely believe his eyes, though he tried to convince himself that of course this man was an angel, why wouldn’t an angel come to take him to heaven?

The angel chuckled. “Yes. My name is Romulus.”

He’d never heard of an angel called Romulus before, but he supposed the scriptures wouldn’t include the names of every angel to ever exist. “Ah, I’d introduce myself, but you seem to know about me already.”

“True, and may I tell you, we’re all very impressed with your actions these past few hours.”

Arthur snorted; he couldn’t help it. “Yes, getting captured by a mob and burned at the stake is an awe-inspiring chain of events.”

“That’s not what I meant. We’re impressed that you sacrificed yourself to save Francis. He’s far away from that village now, though he keeps wondering if he shouldn’t go back and try to help you. In a few days, he’ll sail back to France and find a meadow, where he’ll spend the rest of his life in peace.”

Hearing it brought tears to Arthur’s eyes, though he quickly wiped them away. Now was not the time for crying. “I’m glad he’s safe.”

“And that’s your doing, Arthur. Your sacrifice gives you a choice—you may either pass on to the afterlife, or you may become an Angel.”

Become an Angel? Could he do that? “I didn’t realize that was possible.”

“We’re very careful who we make this offer to. You would be a valuable Angel.”

It was humorous, in a dark way, to think he’d been killed for sinning only to become an Angel. “Would I get to see Francis again?”

“If you wish, though there are rules involved when we interact with humans.”

“I’ll follow them.” There was no hesitance in his response. “I want to be an Angel.”

Romulus smiled, hand moving to settle in the middle of Arthur’s back as he guided the blond forward, towards shimmering white buildings in the distance. “Then allow me to welcome you to heaven, Arthur, our newest Angel.”


End file.
